Star Crossed on A Glass Case
by throughtheparadox
Summary: A sequel to the story 'When I Say Run, Run', Sherlock and Irene's ill-starred destiny crosses once more, four years after they parted. Upon seeing each other again, secrets will be revealed and decisions will have to made.
1. Red Thread

"**_According to an East Asian belief, people who are destined to be together are connected by an invicible Red Thread of Fate. No matter how long it stretches, it would never be broken and will always bring the two people it binds back together." _**

A dream.

No. A memory.

Sherlock woke up with cold beads of sweat running down to his neck, his breathing heavy. He was never much of a dreamer but ever since Irene left, fractions of their time together kept on popping up in his mind.

Not that it bothered him.

Today marked the fourth year of their last day together-the day they shared one last kiss before he saw her disappear into the night, buckling in tears.

Sherlock shook his head, cussing at the thought. He was fine. Absolutely. No one could tell him otherwise.

No one even tries to mention Irene anymore. Not after his fit a few days after she left.

"_Just one more bottle, John!" he remembered saying as John tried to steady him to his feet. His vision was blurry, his head light, his heart heavy-what else is there left to feel? _

_John struggled to keep him upright, Lestrade assisting him. Mary and Molly kept on apologising to the people who were starting to be bothered by Sherlock's wailing. _

_"Just let me have one moreeeee... Just... What are you looking at?" Sherlock snapped, pointing at random strangers who were giving him strange looks. _

_"That's it!" John exclaimed, hitting his cheek with a right cross which caused it to bleed. _

_"Hit me all you want John. It won't hurt me. Nothing can hurt me anymore!" He continued on screeching. Lestrade waded the people away for John to be able to push him out the pub. _

_As he leaned lazily on the wall, Mary tried to reason with him. "Sherlock, calm down... What is this about?" _

_"Nothing! I'm fine! I'm absolutely fine! Fine! Fine! Fine!" Sherlock continued babbling, making John swear in annoyance. Lestrade flipped out his phone and somehow started filming the drunk detective. _

_Molly walked over to Sherlock, her expression saddened. "If this is about Irene..." _

_Sherlock stared at Molly as if she had thrown profanities at him. "I don't want to talk about THE WOMAN. No... No..." _

_"You are an absolute cock, Sherlock Holmes! You let her go and now you're acting like a child!" John spat and Mary hit her husband slightly on the arm, giving him a look. _

_Sherlock's eyes sharpened upon hearing John's words. "I didn't want to! I had to! I HAD TO! And call me a cock or a piece of shit but I will make that same choice over and over and over JUST TO KEEP HER SAFE!" _

_At that, Sherlock's knees weakened. He fell to the floor, his whole body trembling as tears escaped his eyes. He could blame the alcohol or the drugs he started taking again but it couldn't be denied. He was devastated. _

_Lestrade shoved his phone to his pocket and started to kneel beside Sherlock. Mary and Molly's eyes started to glisten in tears at the sight of him. John swore, shaking his head at the detective's confession. _

_"I want her back... But it's not the best, isn't it?" he heard himself say before he could even stop the words from spilling out his mouth. _

A knock on the door snapped him out of his recollection. Mycroft stood at the doorframe, wearing a stoic expression.

"Busy doing nothing, brother dear?" The older Holmes snapped.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What do you want, Mycroft?"

Mycroft smiled sourly, welcoming himself by sitting on the couch. "I need your help on a case."

Sherlock sneered. "Your 'goldfish' not doing enough good work for you?"

"This is a powerplay, Sherlock. I know well enough things like this... Excite you." Mycroft mused with a hint of malice. Of course he remembered that such a case led him to Irene before and Mycroft would never pass up an opportunity to spite him.

Seeing that his brother didn't respond, Mycroft continued. "The case involves Albert Norton, a lawyer who is allegedly working with clients who are... well... withholding some critical information that could expose national secrets."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "And?"

"He acts as their negotiator. Not money or blackmail in exchange of the information... You know the drill, Sherlock. This is familiar territory." Mycroft explained with a smirk.

"I'm far too busy... Surely you can come up with something." Sherlock replied coldly.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows and sighed. As he headed for the door, he stopped on his heel. "I almost forgot," he said as he took out an envelope from his coat pocket and placing it on the table near Sherlock, "Apparently, Irene Adler is back in London. Headed to Orrery. Thought you ought to know."

And with that Mycroft left.

Sherlock stared at the envelope, a heavy weight on his chest building. Irene is here in London? And what is she doing in Marylebone... Orrery for that matter?

Giving out a sigh, Sherlock reached for the envelope and was greeted by photographs of Irene, probably taken tonight. She was wearing a black fur coat and her Louboutins, her hair fixed like the first time they met. Sherlock felt a lump build on his throat as he drank in her image, somehow feeling the pain of the last four years peel off.

Mycroft must have something planned out for him to dangle this to his face, Sherlock figured. But the idea of seeing Irene again tingled every fibre of his being.

With no time to waste, Sherlock dressed up and headed out the door. Only a couple of blocks away, Sherlock tried to calm himself as he headed to Orrery. His hands were cold against his pockets, his heart pounding in his chest.

As he neared his destination, a familiar face stood out from the street. The world seemed to blur, ears turning deaf at the sight of her-Irene Adler.

Apparently, she saw him too for she also stopped on her heel, her eyes widening at the sight of him. With his feet dragging him along, Sherlock walked closer towards her, both their expressions unreadable, their hearts pounding loudly in their chests.

"Irene..." he breathed as their eyes met once more.


	2. Three's A Company

He wanted to reach for her face, to take her into his arms but there was something in the way she was looking at him that told him to stand his ground.

"What are you doing here?" Irene asked, her voice almost in distress.

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed, studying her expression. "Shouldn't I ask you the same question?"

Irene bit her lip, her eyes filled with worry. "Who told you I was back in London?"

Sherlock tried to understand the situation. Orrery... Irene all dressed up... "I see. You're with a client." he muttered, trying to sound distant.

"No... I-" Irene paused when a man with dark hair and aquiline features came up behind her. Seeing that he was dressed in a sharp suit, Sherlock figured that this man is Irene's companion for the night.

"Lucia... I just got off the cab. Strange being back in London, am I right?" said the man, planting a kiss on Irene's lips. His sharp eyes flickered to Sherlock, widening in recognition.

"Mr. Holmes, is it? Huge fan! My name is Godfrey Norton." the man said, extending a hand to Sherlock. The detective simply glanced Godfrey, his eyes reverting back to Irene.

Taking back his hand and giving a slight chuckle, Godfrey replaced his arm around Irene. "You didn't tell me you knew the Great Sherlock Holmes!"

Irene's lowered her eyes, unable to meet Sherlock's gaze. "He's... an old colleague."

"Colleague... Hm." Sherlock hissed, almost rolling his eyes.

"Would you like to join us, Mr. Holmes? Lucia and I were about to have dinner." Mr. Norton suggested.

Lucia... So Irene didn't tell him about her true identity. She used a fake one-the one Mycroft and himself arranged after Karachi-Lucia Bennett. Sherlock kept his hands on his pockets, trembling as he clenched them in fists.

"Dinner?" Sherlock repeated, spiting Irene at the word. Giving a sour smile, Sherlock replied. "Seeing that you will propose to her tonight, I wouldn't want to intrude. Three's a company, don't you think?"

"Propose?" Irene exclaimed, her eyes widening, from surprise or horror Sherlock couldn't tell. Her lips were quivering and she shot him an apologetic glance. Sherlock tried to remain cold.

Godfrey smiled sheepishly, his palm on his nape. "You don't miss much, as you reputation say." he told Sherlock.

"I won't disturb you, then. Good night." Sherlock muttered, turning his back on both Irene and Mr. Norton.

He could feel Irene's lingering stare on the back of his head and he had an immense urge to run. Breathing slowly, he did long strides to keep his dignity intact. What was he thinking? Of course a lot of things had changed! They were apart for four years, goddammit!

But still, part of him ached.

Irene, on the other hand, still has her eyes trained on Sherlock's leaving image. She let herself be dragged by Godfrey, both of them heading inside Orrery. The expression-or the lack thereof-on Sherlock's face lingered on her head, making her insides lurch.

Stopping abruptly, Irene almost tripped if it weren't for Godfrey's hand on hers.

"Everything okay, darling?" Mr. Norton asked, his hand finding the small of her back.

Irene smiled at him weakly, nodding. "Do you mind if I run after Mr. Holmes? I forgot to... Erm... I was supposed to tell him something when I arrived here. A message from another colleague from New York." Of course she was just making an excuse. She couldn't bear that image of cold expression he held in his eyes.

Godfrey grinned. "Of course, love. Good thing he found you here tonight, then, eh? Lessens the bother. Would you like me to come with you?"

Irene shook her head. "Oh no. I'll be quick."

As Godfrey told the attendant about his table reservation, Irene walked out the door and ran after Sherlock who was about to hail a cab. At the sound of her clicking heels he turned and shook his head at the cabbie.

"Problem, Ms. Adler?" he asked coldly.

"So it's back to 'Ms. Adler' now?" she asked, crossing her arms as she tried to catch her breath.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh sorry. I forgot. It's Ms. Bennett now, is it? Or do you prefer 'future Mrs. Norton'?" he spat.

"I need him... You don't understand." Irene hissed.

"Everything is quite clear, actually. Now if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to back in Baker Street." Sherlock replied bitterly.

"You wouldn't even let me explain?" Irene asked, agitated.

"I've seen enough to know." Sherlock simply said.

Irene scoffed, her grey eyes stormy. "And because you're so clever, you won't even listen to what I have to say? You are a prick, Sherlock Holmes!"

With nothing else left to say, Irene turned her back on him, her shoulders shaking in anger.

"Congratulations on your engagement." Sherlock whispered as he watched The Woman walk away from him, the memories of their last night together vividly flashing in his eyes.


	3. Puzzle Pieced

Sherlock tossed and turned, trying to dispel the anguish he was feeling. Grabbing four nicotine patches from his bedside drawer and planting it on his arm, Sherlock shivered at the shock it had caused. Some dizzying pleasure entered his system, almost calming him down.

Almost.

He could still picture Irene's grey eyes staring at him, the way it stung when she regarded him as an "old colleague." Is that all there is to it?

He should've let her explain, yes, but it is bright as day the moment that man-Godfrey Norton-planted a kiss on her lips. The way he looked at her, the way his pupils dilated at the moment suggested this man is in fact in love with Irene Adler. And knowing her story, Sherlock figured Irene wouldn't just let any man be with her if she wasn't in love with him.

So everything that had happened before... Was it even real?

Of course they are faced with danger, chaos, destruction-that is their world. But maybe she just used her wishes for his safety to run away from him. To escape that mortifying life.

Sherlock gritted his teeth in frustration. He wanted it to be real. Of course, this is the very reason why sentiment is toxic... It burns him alive.

He could still remember the night when they were both discharged from the hospital-the night before Coventry. He could still feel the way she kissed him as if every thread of their being sealed that kiss. The way his fingers fumbled over the zipper of her dress, his mouth tracing the curve of her neck, throat, breasts...

She was quivering under his touch, both of them oblivious to the injuries they were still recovering in, his tongue rolling over her scars, whispering how he loved every inch of her-whether it be perfection or imperfection. He recalled the way Irene raked his back as they joined, her breath warm against his ear as pushed into her, deeper and deeper in passion, her voice calling out his name at every plunge.

In perfect memory, he could still see her image-lips swollen from their kisses, hair tangled and splayed against the pillow, eyes half-lidded but staring at him lovingly-all of which he hold dear in his heart.

Was she just lying to him the entire time? Was it just a game?

Is she happy now that she had won?

Shaking in anger, Sherlock started throwing and swiping the kitchen table, causing his test tubes and beakers to shatter on the floor. Dropping to his knees, he shut his eyes tight with his hands clenched to fists.

"Oh!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed as she appeared on the doorframe, immediately trying to raise Sherlock by the shoulder. "What happened here?" she asked, looking around, immense concern evident in her voice. "You hands are bleeding! Oh dear!"

Sherlock raised his bloody hands, pain started to hit his fingertips. Still, his insides felt nothing, ears deaf to whatever it was that Mrs. Hudson was saying.

As soon as the rays of the sun glinted outside the windowpane of 221B, John Watson arrived. "Sherlock, what happened here?" Noticing the mess on the kitchen.

"I assumed that you know, seeing how early you cam. Mrs. Hudson already told you so why ask?" Sherlock simply replied, eyes fixed far ahead.

"Just stop, Sherlock. Stop the "I'm so clever" act. Mrs. Hudson was crying when she called, can't take the image of your bloody hand off her head." John hissed.

"She's being dramatic." Sherlock replied.

"And so are you." John bit back, causing Sherlock to snap his head to the doctor's direction.

"Why are you here, John?" Sherlock asked exasperated.

John swallowed, fidgeting slightly as he reached for something is his pocket. "This is what it's about, isn't it?"

Sherlock studied what was in John's hand, feeling an invisible fist land on his chest as he realised what it was. An invitation.

"Where did you... No... Don't answer it. She brought it you personally." Sherlock muttered.

"Quite a surprise to me and Mary, actually. I thought it was from both of you... But clearly not." John mused.

"You didn't open it." Sherlock said.

John shook his head. "She said it was for you. And anyone you would want to take."

Sherlock just stared at John coldly, his mind reeling. Was Irene trying to insult him?

"When did you find out she was back?" John asked quietly.

"Last night." Sherlock replied.

"Oh."

"What else did she say?"

John shifted his weight, trying to read Sherlock's stoic expression. "She said she was sorry."

"I'd like to be alone, John. Give my love to Mary and Elizabeth." Sherlock said, his voice on the brink of cracking.

John sighed, nodding.

"The invitation, John. I'll have it." he heard Sherlock say, making him stop halfway to the door.

"You're not seriously thinking of going?" John asked, looking at Sherlock with concern.

Sherlock stretched out his hand and John clicked his tongue in resignation. He handed to invitation to Sherlock and looked at his friend sadly one last time before leaving.

Made of high-quality paper, laced with perfume, gold trimmings-the invitation spells high-profile marriage. Design is very personalised though, each signed by the couple-very private-visitors are narrowed down to close family and friends. Very selective guest list.

Sherlock's eyes trained on the message, his mind suddenly blazed at what he saw.

**_MR. AND MRS. ALBERT NORTON REQUEST THE PLEASURE OF YOUR COMPANY _**

**_AT THE MARRIAGE OF LUCIA ELISE BENNETT TO THEIR SON, GODFREY JAMES NORTON, ON THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER, 4:00PM IN COOMBE ABBEY, BRINKLOW ROAD, BINLEY, WARWICKSHIRE. RECEPTION TO FOLLOW. _**

Irene's fiancé is Albert Norton's son-the lawyer whose clientele hold national intelligence.

Everything seemed clearer now. This was Mycroft's play all along.


	4. Masquerade

**_I made a fanart regarding this fic which is posted in my blog here: post/103975608673/something-i-came-up-with-for-the-4th-chapter-of-my_**

**_enjoy this chapter! :)_**

"Finally figured it out, Sherlock? Took you a lot longer than I had expected. You are getting dull." Mycroft said, his lips quirking upward as he spat the words to his younger brother.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, the invitation to Irene-well, Lucia Bennett- and Godfrey Norton's wedding lay innocently on top of the fireplace. Mycroft picked it up, studying the paper and smiling sourly. "How does this make you feel?" The older Holmes said.

"If you think you could make me work on this case by using The Woman, then you're just wasting time." Sherlock hissed.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Are you forgetting that the only reason why you're back to the comfort of your flat, happily living with your "friends" is because I pulled some strings? Now, the security of the nation lies in your hands and you will get into this case or else."

"Is that a threat?" Sherlock mused.

"Yes, brother mine, it is." Mycroft replied. "Also, Irene Adler's 'identity' is also in the loop. If my 'friends' find your actions uncooperative, then you drag her in as well... There is also the files on Mary Watson's 'false documents'... Too much on the line just because your pride got in the way."

Sherlock gritted his teeth, wanting to crush Mycroft's throat using his bare hands. Quite annoying that he has a point. Not that Sherlock would admit it.

"They would be in a charity ball tomorrow night-Ms. Adler and Mr. Norton along with 'company'... I took the liberty of getting you in the guest list." Mycroft announced as he headed for the door.

Stopping on his heel, he turned back to his brother. "Oh and by the way... It's a masquerade ball."

/

"Sherlock Holmes." the detective told the usher as he arrived at the venue. Dressed in a purple button-down shirt tucked on his black trousers and a fur one-sided cape that Mary insisted on making him wear, plus leather riding boots from Lestrade, he looked like someone cut out straight from a dark and mysterious novel. His dark curls fall over the dark mask he wore over his blazing blue eyes, the silver accent of the mask glittering against the yellow light of the halls.

As he started making his way over to the ballroom, his mind reeled over the other guests. Politicians, businessmen-most of the people in the room having chronic affairs by the looks of the lower half of their faces, Sherlock deduced- and also a melting pot of power-play and deception.

His eyes scanned the area for Irene-and Mr. Norton to some extent- but to no avail. To his surprise, someone tapped his shoulder.

"Well, you look dashing!" said the woman who called his attention as she took off her blue bejewelled mask. She was wearing a black-laced off shoulder dress and black high heels, her red lips turning into a smile as she scanned him.

"Janine? What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked, surprised.

Janine shrugged. "New job, new boss-seriously hope this one's not a nutcase like..." she paused to lean in, "...the last one. Thanks for blowing his brains anyway. Mental, that one." she whispered with a smirk as she directed him towards her new boss with her eyes.

"Not like Magnussen, but you should file your resignation immediately. Drug charge, bank debt... You'll be sent off without pay with that one." Sherlock deduced.

Janine hooked her arm in Sherlock's, grinning as she replaced her mask. "Oh, I missed you... You crazy know-it-all. Come on, let's dance!"

"I'm on a case." Sherlock said, his eyes scanning the area once more.

"Just one. Think of this as my apology for not dancing with you over at John and Mary's wedding." Janine insisted, tugging his arm.

"That's a long time ago." Sherlock replied.

"I'm forgiven, then. Come on." Janine said and Sherlock gave in. People will start to grow suspicious if he just stood there and watched. Might as well blend in.

They quietly swayed to the music, Sherlock not noticing Janine's grin. His eyes darted everywhere, trying to get a hold of Irene's location.

After the song ended, people started to gather around the entrance, welcoming someone who just arrived.

"Fancy and elegant that lot. What can you say about them, Sherl?" Janine asked, nudging Sherlock's side. She looked up and saw him, eyes fixed on the woman dressed in red, black fur wrapped around her shoulders, grey eyes are visible underneath a black mask accented with white and red feathers.

"Do you know her?" Janine asked curiously.

"Yes." Sherlock simply replied, his eyes fully on the arrival of Irene Adler, whose arm intertwined with Godfrey Norton's.

"So she's the one, then?" Janine mused, smiling fondly at him.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, his voice almost deadpan.

"I know what your fake-love look is, Sherlock Holmes. And this is not it." Janine said.

"I don't know what-" Sherlock tried to say but Janine laughed.

"Don't even try to say no. Goodness me, Sherl. Have you saved that engagement ring?" Janine asked.

When Sherlock remained silent, Janine nudged him once more. "They're not yet married, you know. Go get her, tiger!"

Sherlock gave her a small smile.

"I'll leave you then. Better make your move or I'll kick your arse off." Janine said, grinning as she winked and gave him a thumbs up before walking over to her boss.

Sherlock watched as Irene and Godfrey joined the crowd, trailing behind her is Mr. Alfred Norton. He tried to concentrate on the reason why he's here, trying to forget Mycroft's purposive plot to bait him in further.

Many of the guests fawned over the newly engaged couple, the gentlemen reaching and kissing Irene's hand for which she obliged. Sherlock saw Godfrey lead Irene to the dancefloor, his hand on her waist. The detective could feel a lump rise in his throat as he saw Irene smile over what Godfrey had whispered in her ear.

To his surprise, Janine snatched him by the arm and led him near where Irene and Godfrey is. "You are not making much progress are you?" she mused. "Good thing I'm feeling sorry for the trouble I caused you before."

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked.

"Helping." Janine replied as she danced, bumping to Godfrey in the process. "Oh! I'm so sorry," Janine mused as Godfrey and Irene turned. "...my partner and I got carried away."

Godfrey smiled. "Not a problem, miss... I... Mr. Holmes? Good to see you here."

Sherlock faked a smile. "Mr. Norton, is it? Good to see you too. Apologies for what my friend just did."

Irene's eyes narrowed at the sight of Sherlock and Janine. "No one got hurt so I guess we can all return to our dancing." she said curtly.

"Seeing as how I interrupted you and the mister, I'd say I owe him a dance." Janine mused, offering her hand to Godfrey, which he took.

"Lovely lady you have here, Mr. Holmes. I shall leave you for a moment, darling." he told both Irene and Sherlock. "Better to catch up, then, yes?" he said.

Janine winked at Sherlock. "You're welcome." she mouthed.

"We can't just stand here." Sherlock told Irene, offering his hand. Irene rolled her eyes as she took it.

His hand slid to her waist, hers on his shoulders. They swayed to the music quietly, trying to read each others' eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Irene asked.

"I'm on case." Sherlock replied.

"With her?" Irene said, her eyes trailing on Janine.

"Simply a coincidence." He simply said.

"Clearly." She replied, her tone clipped.

Sherlock felt Irene breathe deeply as he slid his hand from her waist to the small of her back, closing in the distance between them. His other hand, the one holding Irene's, also moved to meet the one on her back.

"What are you doing, Sherlock Holmes?" Irene breathed.

"Dancing. I thought that was fairly obvious." He replied, his heart pounding in his chest.

Irene's hands closed in on his nape, her head leaning on his chest. "I'm getting married."

"I know. Are you happy?" Sherlock whispered.

"Godfrey's a good man." Irene replied.

"And I'm not?" Sherlock mused.

At that, Irene looked up at him, her grey eyes blazing. "This is not about us."

"It is. Do you know what you're getting yourself into?" Sherlock asked.

"I-if you're talking about Godfrey's family, then yes." Irene replied.

"So why?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

They studied each other, both lips quivering and skin tingling from both contact and despair.

"Meet me at St. Bart's tomorrow." Irene whispered before Godfrey Norton returned with Janine.

"Here's your lovely lady friend, Mr. Holmes. Could I have my fiancée back now?" Mr. Norton said with a chuckle.


	5. Morgue At Midnight

"Let me get one thing straight... You asked us to come here to take you to Bart's before midnight?" Lestrade asked for the fifth time, eyes questioning John.

"Because he's gonna meet Irene tonight in a bloody morgue." John said, his hands flying in exasperation. "You two are such romantics." He continued, his tone full of sarcasm.

Sherlock rose from the couch, his sight hazy, knees practically wobbling. "I bought beer. You should be thankful."

"Thankful?! You're flat is cloudier than heaven itself!" Lestrade exclaimed, fanning the smoke away from his face. Sherlock's hands were both occupied, a beer can on one and a fag on the other.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at Lestrade's remark. "As if you've ever seen heaven, Gordon. Don't be absurd."

"It's Greg." Lestrade hissed.

John tossed the invitation to Lestrade and the detective inspector's eyes grew wide, a smirk surfacing on his face. "So this is what this is about. Irene's getting married in two months and she asked to meet you tonight. Intriguing."

"It's for a case." Sherlock replied grumpily, giving the beer another swig. Taking the moment as an opportunity, John snatched the fag off the detective's hand and stepped on it.

"JOHN!" Sherlock exclaimed, making both Greg and John laugh.

"You look bloody awful. What do you reckon she'd tell you?" Lestrade asked.

"I don't know. Something I don't know yet, I hope." Sherlock slurred.

John smirked. "You just want to see her, information or no information."

"Shut up, John!" Sherlock snapped. "I said it's for a case. Her diamond-crested engagement ring says so."

Lestrade took the can of beer from Sherlock's hand and the detective let him, arms flopping to his side in resignation. "Never really saw her as the marrying type."

"That's why you let her go then? Before?" John asked, wagging his eyebrows at Lestrade who took the liberty of flipping out his phone and started filming Sherlock's mumbling.

"You know why. All of you know! Are you really that stupid that you can't even remember that?!" Sherlock bellowed. He glared at his friends, confused because they started sniggering despite his replies. "What are you laughing at?" he asked.

"Coffee, Greg?" John asked, his smile from ear-to-ear. Sherlock figured they found his internal dilemma amusing.

"Maybe another cup for this bugger." Lestrade replied.

"Why'd you keep on calling him Greg?" Sherlock mused, his head still trying to wrap around the idea of seeing Irene again. It was devastating to him, knowing that together they mean destruction. The last time they were together, both their lives were put to peril, all resulting to a decision to be apart again to save each other. Sherlock never really indulged in the idea of sentiment and this is the exact reason why.

His dreams are still haunted by the feel of her body against his, the way her lips curve to say his name at every kiss, every touch... Abstinence was something in him that Irene took-the reason why she was the distraction he would accommodate whenever his mind is not cracking a code.

John handed him a cup of coffee, possibly attempting to make him sober enough before his meeting with Irene, but he knew deep within himself that no matter how much alcohol run through his bloodstream or how much nicotine stain his nerves, he would never be intoxicated enough to lose the hollow feeling in his chest.

What could Irene possibly tell him? She said she knows what she was getting into, meaning she knows about the Norton's. Even possible that she knows the British Government is onto them.

What if she would tell him that she was working with Mycroft all along? That this mission was both theirs?

Sherlock's mind reeled over the idea, his fingers twitching in anxiety. The possibility of his guess is much more plausible than Irene getting married. If he used this tactic before with Janine, she could do it as well.

After all, their mind is of the same wavelength, he believed.

"Sherlock... Sherlock..." he heard Lestrade call. Snapping out of his reverie, Sherlock noticed the deepening darkness outside the window. As usual, time had passed when he was in deep thought.

"It's time." John said as he nudged his head towards the door.

/

Sherlock tapped his fingers on the table impatiently, his other hand tossing the keys Molly had entrusted him with. His eyes darted on the door at the sound of clicking heels, Irene Adler entering the door a few moments later.

She was wearing her hair low, minimal makeup on her face. She shucked off her thick coat, leaving a dark-green knee-length dress. "Figured this place would have less surveillance." she said.

"I know." Sherlock simply replied.

They studied each other, both of them just standing on either side of the room. "What are you going to tell me?" Sherlock asked, breaking the silence.

Irene pulled a chair and sat, her hands folded on her lap. "I have a proposition."

When Sherlock remained silent, Irene continued. "I'm willing to provide you with all the information you would need about the Norton's and their clients. I will have the messages arranged to be sent to your flat."

"But?" Sherlock replied.

"But I wouldn't want you to invest yourself personally in this case. I understand that your brother wanted you to take this case and you will-just at the comfort of your flat. I know you, Sherlock. With the right information, you could solve this case without leaving 221B." Irene stated, her tone cold.

"Why would you do that?" Sherlock asked.

For a flicker of a moment, Sherlock noticed a change in Irene's gaze. A mixture of worry and nervousness showed but in a blink of an eye, the coldness returned.

"I'm doing you a favour. This is about Albert's clients as well and is very dangerous. You should thank me." Irene replied curtly.

Sherlock strode, walking closer to Irene, his eyes fixed on her. "Favour? How can I be sure that you'll give me the correct information if it will endanger your 'beloved fiancé'?"

Irene raised her eyebrows. "I'm doing this for Godfrey. He has nothing to do with this, don't even have the slightest knowledge of what his father is doing. He's quite contented with the opera troupe we have back at New York."

Sherlock felt the hollow in chest deepen, going straight to his spine. Irene's words stung like an arrow piercing his lungs, his mind trying to make sense of everything.

"You care for him." Sherlock said, his voice barely a whisper.

Irene's eyes grew colder as she heard Sherlock's words. She looked him straight in the eyes, smelling a hint of alcohol and smoke as she drew nearer, her head spinning and her chest pounding at the thought of her next action.

"Care for him? I love him more than any other person I have ever been with." She said, pressing at every word. "You don't have to go to the wedding, by the way."

"Then why give me the invitation?" Sherlock replied, his voice clipped and at the verge of cracking. Still, his eyes grew darker as he maintained his eye contact.

"Sentimental reasons." Irene replied, turning her back on Sherlock. She stopped before leaving him completely, turning to leave one last message.

"My proposition is non-negotiable, by the way. Good night." She said, her pretentious mask peeling off as soon as she turned and walked away, the coldness in her eyes melting in the tears that streamed down her face.

Because telling him the truth was never an option.


	6. Cold Heart In The Flickering Fire

"Jesus, Sherlock! Another fit like this and you can't ever play the violin again." John mused as he shook his head, watching Molly put bandages around the detective's long fingers. The wounds he got from shoving the flasks the other days bled once more as he slammed his hands on the table when Irene left.

Not the first time, the second.

_As soon as she disappeared from behind the door, Sherlock decided that he should go after her. He missed that chance four years ago but he wouldn't do that again. Running after her, he stopped halfway, catching her leaning against the wall with her shoulders shaking. Their eyes met, hers glistening with tears and his alerting in confusion. _

_"Irene..." Sherlock said, surprised at the gentleness of his tone. _

_Irene wiped her eyes harshly, putting her hands in front of her. "Don't. Just don't." _

_Sherlock's hands trembled, his heart quivering in despair. No. He wouldn't do this anymore. _

_He walked over to her hastily, taking her face in his hands and crushing her lips against his. Leaning her deeper into the wall, he could feel the protests of her hands weakening against his chest as she started to return his kisses. _

_Running his hands on her hair, both of them slammed against each other, a certain urgency rising at the top of their heads. _

_Suddenly, at the verge of the moment, he noticed the hard sobs escaping Irene's lips. _

_"No... Sherlock, I'm getting married. I'm not taking back what I said earlier. I'm sorry. I have to go." Irene insisted, pushing him away. _

_"This is just a game, is it? Your revenge?" Sherlock called after her, unable to help himself. She was torturing him, making him unlike himself-making him a fool. _

_"Revenge?! I- well, if this is what you think it is, then fine! You are the great Sherlock Holmes, aren't you? You're always right." Irene spat. "After all, you should've known this was all a ploy. Sentiment got the better of you." _

_"I should've never... If I only knew... Well played, Ms. Adler." Sherlock replied coldly, wanting to hurt Irene as much as it hurts him. _

_Irene just stared at him, her eyes clouded with something he couldn't read. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, she turned away and left him all alone, the darkness of the morgue enveloping him. _

"Sherlock, you have to understand. She might be going through something." Molly suggested.

"No. She isn't." Sherlock replied, his eyes murderous and cold.

/

Irene looked out the window, heavy rains blurring the street. Preparing a cup of tea to calm her nerves, she sat by the fireplace, warming her hands.

As the fire danced in front of her eyes, Irene felt her heart swell. The memory of Sherlock Holmes taking her pulse, the fire causing his blue eyes to blaze stung her deep.

She remembered the way he looked at her last night, his eyes tainted with hatred when she pushed him away. Does he know that when she said she had never loved anyone quite like Godfrey, she was just saying that to protect him?

Of course not. Sherlock may be smart-logical-but even if he feels for her, Irene figured he was still oblivious to the matters of the heart.

Couldn't he read through the inconsistencies of her actions and words? Is he clouded with that much pain?

Irene bit her lip, almost tasting blood at her attempt to seal a cry. If hating her was the only way to keep him away from all of this, then so be it.

She wanted to hate him too. Why couldn't they be normal people who would throw away logic and just fight to be together?

Why?

Why?

Why?

And why didn't he come after her?

But then again, Irene found herself answering her own question. They weren't like other people-ordinary people.

What they have is "beyond everything else."

If only she could tell him how much her heart leaped at the sight of him that night in Orrery. If only she could tell him how much she missed being in his arms when they danced.

Irene almost dropped her teacup at the sound of the doorbell. Expecting that it was Godfrey paying her a daily visit, she breathed deeply and tried to put on a fake smile before opening the door.

To her surprise, Godfrey Norton was nowhere in sight.

"Ms. Adler, we need to discuss some matters-again." greeted Mycroft Holmes with a smug smile.


	7. The Pain of the Mission

Sherlock typed away in his keyboard, tracking every bit and piece that he might gather about the Nortons. A name or two would rise, powerful names-dangerous names.

But he doesn't care. Fingers shaking from the pain, the keys he pressed started to sting up to his chest. He finished, a name blinking on the search bar of his browser.

GODFREY NORTON.

Sherlock hesitated before punching the Enter key.

New York Opera Troupe. Juilliard Alumnus. A bar exam topnotcher who is popular in helping of poor families get justice. Rich and powerful.

Never has he felt hatred towards someone since Magnussen. Godfrey Norton was perfect and he was just- well-just him.

He would never be the best for Irene.

"No!" He muttered to himself, trying to re-focus.

Why does he even have to do this case? Obviously, Mycroft kept on breathing on his neck about this one but with the large scope of things, it actually sparked his interest.

Then there's his fuelling fire.

He wouldn't let Irene treat him like a child. He would get to the bottom of things his way.

She broke him. And now he's going to fix himself no matter what it takes.

"Sherlock! Someone's here to see you." Mrs. Hudson called, her voice shrill.

Sherlock's eyes darted towards the door, his eyebrows raising in recognition as his guest appeared between the doorframe of his flat.

/

"What are you doing here?" Irene asked, glaring at Mycroft.

Mycroft gave her a sour smile, pushing the door wider to let himself in. "Conspiring with my brother again, aren't you, Ms. Adler?"

Closing the door behind her, Irene followed Mycroft as the elder Holmes comfortably lounged about in her living room. "You told me he wouldn't get too involved." Irene spat.

"If your worried about him, I'm taking care of it. I told you. Your role is only to motivate Sherlock to work on this case. Do not interject." Mycroft pressed.

_A year ago, she paced her flat in New York, experiencing the same situation opposite Mycroft Holmes. _

_"Ms. Adler, I have a proposition. You can't go back to London, as part of the conditions of your protection but I can help you." Mycroft said. _

_"Not as easily, I believe." she replied. _

_"You see, there has been a terrible matter at hand that will expose British Intelligence. As usual, the name of my brother has risen but as stubborn as he is, he wouldn't take the case. I'm afraid that if he fails to cooperate, his murder charge regarding Magnussen will rise again and he will have no choice but to be sent to a dangerous mission for the MI-6, for which the assurance for a longer life span is non-existent. My colleagues are getting very impatient." Mycroft mused. _

_"And you want me to convince him?" Irene asked, skeptical. _

_Mycroft smiled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "No. I want you to get yourself involved with the Nortons to... inspire him." _

_"You want me to break his heart." Irene said curtly. _

_Mycroft nodded. "You don't actually think you and Sherlock stand a chance at being together, don't you? You will see him-probably bring his heart to a demise-but he will be safe and alive. Isn't that what's important?"_

_It seemed like a logical idea back then, but now she wasn't sure. Her heart faltered at the idea of piercing Sherlock, the look on his eyes full of hatred and disgust crushed her deep. The sight of his face brought a touch of happiness in heart, despite the knowledge that they could never be together. _

_If his safety is something she could assure, then all the pain in the world would possibly be bearable. _

Flicking to the present, Irene fixed her eyes on the older Holmes.

"If the Nortons get too familiar with him, there's no need for a MI-6 mission to end his life." Irene said darkly, her hands trembling in anger.

"So you offer him your help? You offer to spy for him?" Mycroft hissed. "And if you get caught, don't you think he wouldn't risk saving you from harm? Which is more damaging, Ms. Adler?"

"He wouldn't. I know he wouldn't. Not after the things I told him." Irene replied.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, rubbing his temples in exasperation. "Dear me. This headache of mine is also my own fault. I never thought you two will end up like this. Such tragedy... On my part that is."

Irene watched as Mycroft stood, strutting his way out of her residence. "Remember the deal, Ms. Adler. One wrong move and you won't ever see even a hint of his shadow."


	8. Piercing Words and Unexpected Visitors

"_Sherlock?" Irene whispered, her head on his chest. "Will you miss this?" _

_"I will always have you in my Mind Palace." Sherlock replied, his lips touching the top of her head. _

_Irene listened to Sherlock's beating heart, its elevation sounding like music to her ears. This will be their last night together. Tomorrow, she would sleep alone, coldness to envelope her entire being as she lie miles away from him. _

_"How would we make Coventry count?" she asked, feeling the tears form in her eyes. _

_Sherlock tipped her chin to face him, a sad smile on his lips. "No matter where we are or what we do, Ms. Adler, everything I do next to you will always count." _

_"I've never felt this way towards anyone. Of course, you are not just anyone." she replied, softly laughing. _

_"You make me break my vow, you know." Sherlock announced._

_"Of virginity?" Irene replied, her lips quirking upwards in amusement. _

_Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of abstinence over anything sentimental. Of getting myself involved." _

_"Oh." Irene's brows furrowed. "I'm sorry."_

_Sherlock planted a kiss on her forehead. "Don't worry. I'm not." _

_Unable to help herself, Irene leaned onto him for a deep kiss, her body sinking into him as they spent their last night away._

Irene opened her eyes, her mind still on her dream.

Almost cursing the person who rang her doorbell, she peeked through the peephole, learning her lesson after Mycroft's visit.

"I have a letter for Ms. Bennett." said the man in a peddler hat, his voice low.

/

Sherlock Holmes stood up, straightening his coat to meet his visitor. Albert Norton offered his hand and Sherlock took it. Offering him a chair, Sherlock headed to the kitchen to prepare tea, the gears in his mind whirring at this suddenness.

This is an opportunity. A chance.

"Mr. Norton, yes?" Sherlock acknowledged, handing the man the cup he prepared.

"Mr. Holmes. Pleasure to meet you... Formally." Mr. Norton replied.

They sat facing each other, both unreadable expressions on their faces.

"So rude of my son to not introduce you to me during the ball... Seeing that you have been invited to their private wedding." Mr. Norton said, his beady eyes trailing to the invitation by the fireplace. "I take it that Lucia was your...friend?" the last word full of malice in his tongue.

Sherlock's eyes blazed cold. "Actually, we're nothing more than acquaintances... not even close. I just met her as a client's friend."

"And she invited you to her wedding?" Mr. Norton asked.

"I proved to be very helpful. I believe she was just trying to be nice, considering I didn't charge her friend for anything." Sherlock answered swiftly.

Mr. Norton smiled, his face contorted like he was wincing. "Who was this friend? Your client, I mean."

"I have a strict observance of privacy towards my clients. I know you would understand." Sherlock replied curtly.

"Clearly." Mr. Norton mused.

"You're here to ask about Lucia. Well, I'm afraid that's all I can say about her." Sherlock said.

To his surprise, Mr. Norton laughed. "Don't take me for a fool, Mr. Holmes. Lucia Bennett didn't exist until a couple of years ago, her documents are almost non-existent, and I wouldn't want a TRAMP entering into my family!" the glint in his eyes flickered with danger and darkness as he hissed his next words. "I saw the way you danced with her at the ball. I know who you are and who your brother is and I will do whatever it takes to destroy you if you don't tell me what you know about her..."

Sherlock picked up his violin, playing The Cello Suites by Bach, his eyes cool and calm. "Is that a threat? Or a challenge?"

"Both." replied Mr. Norton as he walked past him, a smug smile on his face.

As soon as Mr. Norton was out of sight within the radius of Baker Street, Sherlock knew exactly what to do.

After all, love and hate is separated by such a fine line.

/

Irene opened the door, annoyance still striking her eyes. "Who's it fr-"

Her eyes widened as she looked up, seeing the face of her visitor.

"Sherlock?"


	9. Flame

"_You have a variety of clothes in here. Do you wear them all?" Irene asked as she rearranged the detective's closet to fit her own wardrobe. Seeing a pile of leather jackets and denims, Irene pulled one out, smiling in amusement. "This would look rather good on you. Of course, I'd rather prefer you wear nothing at all." she teased._

_Sherlock rolled his eyes. "If I ever needed to be in disguise for a case, I make sure my closet is well-stacked with... costumes." _

_"Well, you certainly fooled me with that vicar-look you wore the first time we met." Irene mused, re-folding the jacket she pulled out. Sherlock raised his eyebrows as if to protest, then figured it was a sarcastic remark. He smiled. _

_Sherlock sat on the bed, watching Irene through his periphery as he pretended to read the morning paper. A few weeks after she appeared in Baker Street, both of them somehow became civil. Less shouting, less arguing-he could actually tolerate her. He smiled at the thought._

/

The detective was wearing a peddler's hat, a grey shirt topped with a leather jacket matched with rugged jeans and dark shoes but it was not the most disturbing about his attire-on his hand was a carpenter's toolbox.

Lowering his hat to cover his head, Sherlock told Irene to shush. Nodding slightly, she let him slide through the door.

His head hanging low, Sherlock gave Irene a pointed look.

"Pretend you're giving me instructions." Sherlock hissed.

"Okay. But will you tell me what's going on?" Irene replied, a made-up smile on her face as she gestured her hand towards the sitting room.

Sherlock rummaged through the surfaces around the house, high and low, his eyes alert. "I believe your future father-in-law has you on surveillance."

To his surprise, Irene laughed. "Do you actually think I trust him? I already checked the entire house."

"Well, I'm checking again." Sherlock hissed.

"No need. Haven't you noticed the dust?" Irene mused.

Sherlock looked at her, then surveyed the layers of dust on the surfaces of the house. His mind clicked, remembering the time when Irene asked him why he doesn't like her dusting back in Baker Street. Dismissing feeling pleased because she remembered, he shot her a glare.

"Well then... I guess I'll take my leave." Sherlock muttered, crossing the living room to head out the door.

Irene stepped in front of him, her arms crossed on her chest. "He asked you to investigate on me."

Sherlock looked at her, his eyes cold. "And my brother asked you to spy on them. Why? To get back to London in exchange of information? Money? Or did Mycroft promise you he'll give you a clean slate and you can be Irene Adler again-to not hide behind this fake facade, an ordinary Opera singer from New York?" he spat, agitated. Despite the concern he felt for her safety, it dawned to him now that of course she wouldn't be back without help. Her protection program clearly stated that she could never go back to London and yet here she is. Of course Mycroft is responsible.

Irene, on the other hand, felt her chest swell at Sherlock's every word. Putting on a brave face, she gave him a smile. "You're getting this just now?"

Surprisingly, Sherlock smirked. "And then again I also know your lying right this very moment."

Irene glared at him as he took another step closer to her. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know exactly what I'm trying to say. Mycroft has practically begged me to take on this case and then you conveniently show up just when I said no. Coincidence? I don't believe in those." Sherlock said, his voice almost a thrilling whisper.

Irene stepped back, internally trying to compose herself. Sherlock should never find out or else it would just mean more trouble for him. Pushing him away was the only way to ensure his safety. "Can't you just accept that I've moved on? Albert is old and dying... Godfrey is his only son and by marrying him, I couldn't care less about being Irene or Lucia anymore. I would have power, money-anything. Don't make this about you, Sherlock. Not everything is about you. And what happened four years ago means nothing to me." she snapped, attempting to anger Sherlock once more.

At that moment, multiple things happened at once. Blue and grey eyes blazing at each other, both blurring in heightened emotion. Irene felt her spine tingle upon seeing Sherlock slam his hand, the proximity and force almost taking her breath away in fear and nervousness. Sherlock felt his head buzz, Irene's words igniting in him a flame that burned within him like the rivers of his own hell.

Both took them by surprise, their lips crushing against each other in such desperation, bodies slamming in frustration as they gripped onto each like the air they breathe. Sherlock felt all his anger strip away from the moment he initiated kissing Irene, relief filling him as she returned it with the same passion.

From the moment he figured out that Mycroft has been playing him like a pawn, he knew Irene was lying to him. Not to be ego-centric but he knew he would do the same for her. Choosing the logical thing to do was something they were hot-wired to do, wasn't it?

Irene felt herself panic as Sherlock launched himself at her, initially thinking that he will hit her. As soon as his lips touched hers, a moment of resistance enveloped her, but soon vanished when his tongue slowly ran down her mouth. Months and years of waiting to be in his arms and it all fell right in this moment-a moment when they spat insults at each other in the intention of keeping each other safe-and yet failing to commit.

Sherlock slid his hand down Irene's arms, to the hem of her dress, his fingers trailing her bare thighs. His mouth lowered down to her neck, his tongue running to the back of her ear.

Irene moaned, her fingers shoving away Sherlock's hat and leather jacket with the detective's help, her hand sliding underneath his shirt as she felt the heat of his smooth back.

Sherlock slid the zipper of Irene's dress open, kissing her mouth passionately as she shook the dress off her frame. Raising his arms to let Irene slide the shirt off him, Sherlock wrapped her legs to him as he scanned the house to find her bedroom.

"Upstairs. 2nd door to the left." Irene breathed, meeting his kiss once more.

As he carried her up the stairs, Irene bit his lower lip slightly, her tongue running through his teeth, making him groan. Reaching the bedroom, they both slammed onto the bed, one on top of the other, with Sherlock removing the front-clasp of Irene's bra and throwing it off the bed. Leaning towards her, he nuzzled her neck, sucking the skin ever so lightly as he trailed kissed down to her chest, his tongue running over her collarbone.

"Oh Sherlock." Irene gasped as his mouth lowered to her breasts, one hand kneading her passionately. He sucked and grazed his teeth intimately on her erect nipples, burying his face in them as Irene curved her back, her chest meeting his lips welcomely.

Irene's head was thrown back as Sherlock slid down her smooth abdomen, his fingers taking off her knickers away.

Irene, taking Sherlock's momentary pause as a signal, rolled him over and made her way to push away his trousers and his underpants. Both marvelling at the image of each other, their eyes full of desire and the pain of separation, Sherlock reached up to Irene and pulled her to him, their bodies colliding as they kissed each other passionately.

Sherlock groaned as Irene trailed kisses and bites to his shoulders, her fingers digging to the flesh in his back as he returned the same action. Laying her down and brushing her hair away from her face, Sherlock buried his face on Irene's neck as he slid into her, like a bow against the strings of a violin. Slowly at first, then picking up his pace, he felt her meet him halfway, their bodies crushing into each other deeper and deeper at every clash.

Irene moaned and screeched as she felt him inside her, her lips kissing his forehead, his cheeks and his lips at any chance possible, given the moment. She could feel heat build up inside her and judging by Sherlock's expression, he was near his peak as well.

Pushing into her faster and faster, Irene felt Sherlock explode inside her as she was to him, his body falling over her as they both hissed each other's name. He rolled over, taking her by the waist as he did so, and Irene placed her head over his chest. She could feel his fingers on her hair, his breathing heavy.

"How did you know?" Irene asked, looking up at him as she also catch her breath.

Sherlock softly smiled. "I didn't, initially. I actually believed you were... happy with him."

"But?" Irene asked.

"I felt your pulse when we danced, when you returned my kiss at the morgue... Even if you denied, even if you tried to hurt me as I did today, spitting those words at you- are we really that easy to fool?" Sherlock replied. "Then there's my prick brother, which completes the equation."

Irene's eyebrows furrowed. "But I still have to be with Godfrey. To be wed to him, if I must. I don't want you to get involved too much. You can take this case but not to the point that you'll personally be within their radius."

With that Sherlock's expression shifted. "You'll still marry him."

"If it falls to that, yes." Irene replied.

"Then this case must end sooner than it should be." Sherlock breathed. "You know you can't keep me off it. Not now."

Irene rolled her eyes, but she knew deep down that whether she pushed him away or not, Sherlock will never back down especially since Albert personally challenged him.

"This is a mistake." Irene whispered.

"I know... And it will never happen again." Sherlock replied grimly, still his arm around Irene.

"Another goodbye?" Irene asked.

"Something to keep before whatever else happens." Sherlock answered.

They were silent for a while, eventually falling asleep in each other's arms, both eyes tear-stained, suggesting they were sharing the same dream.

Who would have thought that despite failing to end their connection with sharp-edged words and rekindling the way their hearts and minds weave through each other, it would still end in goodbye?

Suddenly, their slumber was broken by a ring from the doorbell.

Then another came.

And another.

Irene and Sherlock stirred awake, both wary of the escalating sound. As Irene peeked through the window, she cussed in panic.

"Godfrey's here."

/

(**_Hey everyone! It's my first time to write something partially explicit for a love scene so I apologise if it's crappy and sh*t. Hope you like this chapter! This will be a huge turning point for the story so keep your eyes peeled! xx) _**


	10. In Deep Thought

Sherlock laughed, almost a little to inappropriate as he heard what just escaped Irene's mouth. How awful could circumstances be? Coming here to warn her away from him only to end up in her bed and be woken by the sound of her fiancé ringing the doorbell-Sherlock had never imagined himself in such a situation. Irene stared back at him, her eyebrows raising.

"You actually think this is funny?" Irene asked as she picked up her lingerie from the floor.

"Would you ask me to hide in the closet and watch you shag him next?" Sherlock mused as he stood up to re-dress.

Irene rolled her eyes at him as she headed out the bedroom, gathering pieces of the clothes they had thrown off a few moments ago. "We haven't- I never did- with him." she hissed, strapping on her dress hastily as the ringing grew more impatient.

Sherlock eyed her, almost smiling. "Waiting until after the wedding?"

Irene helped him put on his shirt and shoved his hat and jacket in his arms. "Oh shut up! Just use the back door. Leave quietly."

Both of them almost jumped surprisingly as Irene's phone rang, Godfrey's name appearing on the screen.

"Just tell him you fell asleep." Sherlock said, his voice deadpan.

Irene studied him, his hair rumpled and flushed face sending heat to her skin. "We need to talk about happened-erm-and our plan. I'll meet you in Baker Street tonight."

Sherlock nodded. "Be careful." he whispered as turned away, disappearing behind the backdoor.

/

Sherlock's fingers plucked over his violin as he stared into nothingness. A heavy weight has been lifted off his chest as he recalled the taste of Irene's mouth, the feel of her body against him, the way her dark hair splayed behind her like a dark curtain of desire. But then, the worry of another impending goodbye broke from the happy memory. Irene was to be wed, inevitable indeed and utterly annoying considering that this was Mycroft's grand plan.

"Told you we shouldn't have come. He would just go on like that for hours. It's like we visited no one!" John exclaimed, eyeing Mary as if to say 'I told you so.'

Mary rolled her eyes at her husband. Lizzie walked over to Sherlock, her little hands tapping his arm.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, her big green eyes staring at him in amusement. For four years, Lizzie grew advanced for her age, smart and inquisitive like her mother and kind and understanding like her father. Sherlock picked her up to his lap, holding her awkwardly with affection.

"Just a case Elizabeth. Nothing to worry about." he said, studying the little Watson. She leaned her head to his chest, reaching for his violin which he handed to her without hesitation.

Plucking the strings with her tiny fingers, Sherlock found himself thinking about how curious a child could be. He was actually afraid that too much curiosity would lead to too much intelligence which could make someone wary or even a bit sociopathic like him. He eyed John and Mary who smiled at him and thought that little Lizzie would turn out just fine. This is why he never pictured himself as a parent-he would be too critical and possibly be horrible at it.

Plus, he was still also a child most of the time.

Again lost in thought, he didn't notice Lizzie facing him and nuzzling him with a hug. "You smell funny." she mused and John hissed from a distant.

"Please tell me he's not taking 'you-know-what' again." John told Mary as she walked over to picked up Lizzie. Sherlock snapped out from his trance and noticed Mary leaning in to smell him, an amused smirk forming in her face.

"Not drugs or alcohol, John." Mary said, laughing.

"What're you talking about?" Sherlock asked as Mary leaned to John to whisper in order for Lizzie not to hear.

John's face twisted with an amused smile as Mary nodded, both of them staring at him wide eyed.

"I'll take Lizzie to Mrs. Hudson before we get chatty." Mary said, giggling as she headed for the door.

"I wanna join you too!" They heard Lizzie muse from the stairs.

Sherlock eyed John, the doctor's face still contorted in amusement. "Mary said you smell like women's perfume. Casmir, to be exact."

The detective just stared at his friend, finding the right response.

"I was outside earlier. Must've caught the scent in the air." Sherlock said simply.

"It smells so strongly, though. Like the wearer... I dunno... Brushed skin with you." Mary offered as she popped back. "And the only person I know who 'loves' Casmir is...Irene."

"Come to think of it, Sherlock, you do look different." John mused, laughing.

"After sex glow, do they call it?" Mary added, still giggling.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at them, still a smile forming in his face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Just say you did it." Mary insisted, nudging John.

"John, control your wife." Sherlock mused. "Her CIA is showing."

John dismissed him. "So you're seeing her again? Good to know you had it all sorted out."

"She's getting married." Sherlock replied.

"Didn't stop you from shagging her." John snapped back.

Sherlock stared at him. "Why are you insisting that..."

Mary laughed. "It's written all over your face, Sherlock. I bet this excites you... Secret rendezvous and all..."

Sherlock sighed. He went on to explain the current situation to Mary and John-from Mycroft's play to Mr. Norton threatening him about Irene.

"She's coming here tonight to discuss matters with me." Sherlock ended.

The entire time, a goofy smile was plastered on John's face. "Discuss matters... Bet you forgot that part when you saw her today."

Mary hit her husband's arm. "Stop teasing him. We have to be serious about this." she said, biting her lip to prevent a giggle to escape.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at them. "Why did you send Elizabeth away?"

"Because we thought we're gonna have a mature conversation." Mary teased.

"How is this mature?" Sherlock replied.

"Lizzie likes you very much, Sherlock." Mary said.

"I know. She's your daughter. Liking me is sort of a requirement." Sherlock answered.

"Or could be genetic." Mary mused.

With that, all of them laughed.

"But seriously Sherlock. What're you gonna do? Irene's still going to get married." John asked.

Sherlock grew silent for a moment. Mary nudged John, her eyes narrowing.

"You really have to ruin it, don't you?" Mary hissed.

"Well... We're gonna talk about it sooner or later so..." John replied shrugging.

"Still..." Mary mused.

Sherlock stared at them, his eyes burning. "No. John's right. I... I still don't know what to do about that. That's why I'm meeting her tonight."

"That says something-Irene really is the one." Mary said, grinning from ear to ear.

/

Mrs. Hudson almost shrieked in delight upon seeing Irene on the door that night. Sherlock stood up to welcome her, watching closely as she took of her hat and coat.

As she sat in the chair across his, Sherlock noticed something that made his insides turn.

"Why is your face bruised?"


	11. First Signs

Thirteen possible scenarios. Most of them leading to one possible conclusion.

Godfrey Norton.

"You can wipe off that worried look on your face. I bruised him right on the eye and some other place too. And with what I did, I'm almost certain we'd never have children-not that I would want any in the first place." Irene said, crossing her legs as she sat, her eyes straight and defiant as ever.

Sherlock offered her a cup of tea, their fingers brushing at the moment. Their eyes met, the contact sending chills down their spine and that exact moment, the memories of what transpired earlier that day flashed vividly in their mind.

"I know you can handle yourself just fine." Sherlock replied as he cleared his throat, going back to his chair. "Wait... Did you just say you wouldn't want to have children?"

Irene raised her eyebrows at him. "Why? Would you?"

Sherlock considered her question. He wouldn't, couldn't... His mind flashed to John and Mary and young and inquisitive Elizabeth. No. He doesn't want that. He would be a terrible parent and it would cause such an inconvenience.

But Irene's statement somehow punctured a hole in his chest.

"No." He simply replied, almost spitting the word like acid.

Irene leaned, her hand resting on her hand. "Sherlock. I'm here to discuss about... About what happened earlier."

"Yes."

With that, Irene continued. "We could never be together. We made that clear. With regards to this case, I still go by my initial proposition. Don't get involved."

"What's the deal with my brother?" Sherlock asked and Irene explained what happened that day in New York.

When he found out that he was the real reason why Irene came back, why she agreed to seal this deal with Mycroft, Sherlock almost cursed. No matter how much they try, could the two of them together really be that toxic?

And yet the toxicity is making him want it more.

"Well?" Irene asked, snapping him out of his reverie.

"What do you want me to say?" Sherlock replied, his tone grim.

Irene shook her head slightly. Putting down her cup and reaching for her coat, she pulled out a brown envelope, handing it to Sherlock. "I managed to take these before-a list of their current clients. I marked those who are in constant contact with Albert. Those are-"

"...People who have confidential information that are just waiting to be launched publicly." Sherlock continued.

Irene nodded, watching the unreadable look on the detective's face. She had always adored the way he looked so distant, his eyes reflecting the flickering fire and the intensity of his thoughts. It was almost so surreal that Sherlock Holmes had made love to her-not just once but more than what she had expected. The funny thing was, it wasn't a physical act in itself. As they moved against each other, they kept on wondering about each other's next move, about what the other is thinking and just about how they marvel at each other's mind.

"How was the past four years, Sherlock?" Irene asked, biting her tongue as she did so. Sherlock looked at her, his eyes a cross between tender and hesitant.

"Same as how I was when I thought you were dead." Sherlock replied. "And you?"

"I haven't been the same since Karachi." Irene said. "I'm sure you know that."

Sherlock nodded, feeling a lump on his throat. He stood up, walking past Irene as he headed for the kitchen but she caught his arm. Standing up to meet him face-to-face, Irene brushed a curl off his forehead.

"I thought you said it was a mistake." Sherlock whispered.

"Everything about us was a mistake... But did that stop us before?" Irene replied, her lips finding his.

/

(Two weeks later)

Irene woke up to the sound of her mobile phone ringing. Godfrey.

"Hello?" She said, her voice cracking.

"Lucia, I hope you're getting ready. The engagement party is only a couple of hours away." She heard him say from the other line.

Of course she forgot-or rather, she chose to forget. Now that she came clean with why she was with Godfrey in the first place, everything became confusing and almost senseless ever since the last night she spent in Baker Street in Sherlock's arms.

"You disturbed my beauty rest. What time will you pick me up?" Irene asked, faking enthusiasm. She and Sherlock agreed that they would put an end to this case before the wedding date comes and she decided to put up with it. A few more weeks, that's all it'll take.

"I can't. I'll meet with a couple of clients with dad before I go to the party. I'll have the chauffeur pick you up." Godfrey replied. "And by the way, I'm sorry about what happened... I didn't mean to hit you. You know I love you, Lucia."

"And I, you." She replied, rolling her eyes in the process as she ended the call. Knowing that Sherlock would be there tonight served as motivation, she stood up to prepare.

Her head buzzed badly, almost tipping her off balance. Her vision blurred and her insides churned as she ran to the loo, sour acid escaping her mouth. Wiping her lips as she washed the taste in her mouth, Irene's mind reeled.

Running to get her phone, Irene checked her calendar.

She missed her period by four days.


	12. An Announcement To Be Made

"And the door was locked until late in the afternoon!" squeaked Mrs. Hudson as she placed a jar full of biscuits on the table, grinning ear to ear.

Sherlock watched as Lizzie munched on the biscuits happily, not noticing John and Mary's amused smiles.

Mrs. Hudson handed the couple their cup of tea. "My ceiling was creaking the entire night, I'm telling you. Oh how I missed the time when Frank and I used to spend the night away, our..."

"Erm... Mrs. Hudson, Lizzie's here. I think it's best not to talk about... You know..." Mary mused, almost giggling. Mrs. Hudson put a hand on her lips, nodding.

"I wanna know, mummy! What is it?" Lizzie said, her green eyes widening. Mary just smiled, shaking her head.

"Adorable little thing, aren't you?" Mrs. Hudson said, ruffling Lizzie's blond head. The child smiled, dimples surfacing on her pink cheeks.

Sherlock focused on the child, his fondness over her growing. Such wonder, a child's mind is-but then he was never much when he was one.

His mind flew from one thought to the next, to John and Mary being exceptional people and parents, to Irene Adler-the object of his... affections. The idea of Irene getting married in almost less than a month's time despite the lack of her commitment disturbed the hollows of his mind.

If this case stretches longer, it is inevitable that he marriage will push through. Then Irene and Godfrey Norton will have to have children. She said that she doesn't want children, but her role as Godfrey's wife is enough assurance.

He envisioned it-versions of Elizabeth, only from a different set of parents. If there's one thing he learned from being Elizabeth's godfather, there is something in a child that makes you feel attached. And it scared him that him and Irene would never be together, that once she has children, they would be her priority-and of course, her husband.

When did he become such a romantic anyway? Ugh. Just thinking about that word disgusts him. Irene Adler. The Woman. This was their mistake.

She would one day wither away as Lucia Norton-out of his grasp forevermore.

For two weeks they didn't see each other, their only contact would be the anonymous encrypted messages sent on his blog, containing information about what kind of data Albert's clients got a hold of and how to retrieve it.

Mycroft was somehow pleased at how the case was progressing.

/

"_Brother mine." Mycroft said, prancing proudly inside his flat. _

_"I already told you that John will bring this to you." Sherlock said, his voice cold, eyes not leaving his microscope. _

_Mycroft smiled sourly. "Well, such information needs to be handled personally." _

_Sherlock stared at his brother, his eyes piercing. "I know about your little game, Mycroft. Don't look so smug." _

_"I know." Mycroft replied. "You and Irene Adler are conspiring, totally against my instructions. As expected." _

_"Don't act like that's your masterplan." Sherlock spat. "You just wanted to play us like your little pawns. And I thought you have no freetime at hand." _

_Mycroft sat across his brother, his fingers laced together. "You should be thanking me. I brought her back." _

_"To danger. I bet you love this." Sherlock replied. _

_Mycroft scoffed. "Think as you will, brother dear. I did what is right." _

_"You just wanted to prove you can outsmart everyone." Sherlock hissed. _

_"Hm." Mycroft simply replied, walking out the door as he slid the file folder in his coat pocket. _

/

"The engagement party." He murmured, his eyes adjusting to the dim room. Hours had already passed and he was now alone. As he shuffled, he saw a crisp piece of paper on his armrest.

Seeing the smooth curves of Mary's handwriting, he read the note: **_Good luck tonight, Sherlock! Get your lady back, okay? Love from John, Mary and Lizzie xx_**

He smiled but not quite reaching his eyes. As agreed, Sherlock would be there at the party to monitor the Nortons. Despite their old arrangement, he persuaded Irene that he would still attend functions involving the Nortons and their circle, also to keep an eye on her.

Giving out a sigh, Sherlock headed to the bathroom to prepare for the party, his tux waiting to be worn.

/

The bright halls glistened under the light of the crystal chandeliers, every guest dressed to their best. Sherlock scanned the area, his eyes and mind calculating every visitor's action. Similar attendees from the masquerade ball with only a couple of exceptions. At last, his eyes rested on Irene, her gold dress standing out in the crowd. The crinkle in her eyes seemed so genuine as she laughed at something Godfrey had said, Albert Norton among their company. Despite knowing that it was all an act, Sherlock felt a pit in his stomach.

Irene turned and their eyes met, a secret understanding shared in a flicker of a moment. Godfrey followed his fiancée's gaze trail and his eyes lit. Sherlock faked a smile as he saw Godfrey cross the crowd to greet him, Irene and Albert at his heel.

"Mr. Holmes! Good of you to join us again!" Godfrey said, taking Sherlock's hand and shaking it fervently. Albert gave Sherlock a knowing smile.

"Oh this is my father, Alb-"

"We've met." Sherlock said, taking Mr. Norton's hand. They were both studying each other closely, like one of them might shout fire at any moment. Irene cleared her throat, her hand on Godfrey's arm.

"Isn't that lovely, dear?" Irene mused.

"Lovely indeed." Albert hissed with a sardonic smile, tapping his son by the shoulder. "Do you mind if I take my son away for a while, Lucia? I have some people I would introduce him to. You wouldn't mind keeping Mr. Holmes company, do you?"

"But..." Godfrey started but his father dragged him away.

"That bastard." Irene hissed.

"He knows we're onto him. I can't tell how much he knows of your involvement but just be cautious of him." Sherlock whispered back.

A waiter passed by them and Sherlock called his attention. "Champagne?" he asked Irene.

Irene hesitated but took a glass.

"Something's bothering you." Sherlock said, taking a sip.

Irene stared at him, her mind in mixed opinion on whether or not he should tell him of her...condition. She had never been with any other man after him-any other man every since they parted ways four years ago so she was sure the responsibility lies between them. She was just not sure how to break it to him.

The ex-dominatrix who almost put a nation to its knees and a high-functioning sociopath who was under probation for murder would not be good credentials to put in a parenting curriculum vitae.

"Pretend to laugh and after that tell me what's going on." Sherlock whispered, a fake smile plastered in his face. Irene did as she was told, pretending to have a harmless conversation with the detective.

"Irene..." Sherlock hissed once more as Irene continued to retain her disturbed expression.

Giving out a soft sigh, Irene stared Sherlock in the eye, her hands trembling and her heart pounding loud in her chest. "Sherlock... I-I..."

_CLING! CLING! CLING! _

The sound of someone tapping a wineglass echoed across the hall. Godfrey Norton stood on the small stage made for the band, a wide grin on his face as he held the microphone.

"I have an important announcement to make." he said.

Sherlock eyed Irene, who looked surprised and distraught at the same time. Her eyes held a look of horror, her fingers trembling slightly as she clutched her stomach. _Is she going to throw up_? Sherlock thought.

"First off, I would like to apologise to my fiancée who I will also surprise with what I have to say... Sorry, love. If you would please join me onstage." Godfrey said, his hand extending towards Irene's direction.

Irene put on a fake, radiant smile and gave Sherlock one last glance before heading to the stage, confusion written all over her eyes.

"Love is something that shouldn't wait so long. It should be seized when the opportune moment rises, never giving it an option to flee. The preparations are set so why wait? The wedding will be moved earlier-a week from now to be exact. As advised by my father, I shouldn't give a woman like Lucia a chance to escape me." Godfrey announced, taking Irene in his arms and giving her a kiss.

When he pulled away, Irene smiled the best she can, taking the microphone. "I-I don't know what to say."

"I do! Congratulations to my son and his bride to be!" Mr. Norton shouted, raising his wine glass with his eyes sweeping from Irene to Sherlock, a malicious smile stretched on his face.


	13. Ticking Like A Time Bomb

(**_So this chapter is filled with fragments from 'When I Say Run, Run'. I thought these were essential to build up what's to come. Enjoy lovelies! I appreciate the reviews. xx)_**

_I... I l-," Sherlock wanted to tell her. He wanted her to know how she made her realise something. His emotions, his thoughts... He had seen this before. Watched it closely as he studied its dynamics. He looked at himself in the mirror and he bore the expressions John had when his friend thinks about Mary._

_"Don't." Irene replied. "You said it was simple yet destructive, remember? And we are not simple. Destructive, maybe."_

_"Beyond it... Aren't we?" Sherlock asked and Irene smiled._

_"Beyond anything else."_

"Mr. Holmes, did you like the surprise?" said Albert Norton as he approached Sherlock. The detective eyed him grimly, fighting the urge to spit on his smug expression.

"Oh, is that what it was?" Sherlock replied coldly and Albert frowned, sipping from his glass of wine.

"Don't pretend you saw that coming. I saw the look on your funny little face." Mr. Norton spat, his finger circling the edge of his wine glass. When Sherlock didn't reply, he continued. "The clock is ticking, Mr. Holmes. Don't you think I wouldn't notice that days before my clients are summoned in court, their get-out-of-jail-free card suddenly disappear? Stolen, burned, hacked... Really now? Of course, there has to be a rat nearby." he eyed Irene. "And just when I needed someone to blame, Lucia was seen visiting you, probably rattling you bed all night long."

"And I thought you were a busy man." Sherlock hissed, his eyes glinting with defiance.

Albert Norton studied him, leaning in so close that he was just a breath away from Sherlock's face. "If I go down, I'll drag that skank with me."

"What makes you think I care?" Sherlock replied.

"I know you do." Mr. Norton hissed, stepping away from him. "Enjoy the night, Mr. Holmes."

"Oh, I will." Sherlock muttered, drinking in the last of his Champagne. He saw Irene looking at him, a distraught expression in her eyes that he knows only the two of them understands. There was something different about her tonight, caution and hesitation evident in her movements.

He gave her a nod, subtle to not be noticed by anyone else but bold enough for her to get the message.

He must take his leave, must plan out the next move to be made.

_Sherlock rolled her over as he stepped out of the bed, grabbing his dressing gown on the floor. "Vegetable omelette?" He asked and Irene nodded, wrapping the sheet around her body as she followed him._

_"No case?" Irene asked as they sat in the kitchen._

_"Nothing worth my time. Most are fives..." Sherlock replied, sipping tea._

_Irene watched Sherlock as the detective reached for the newspaper and started reading. She could feel a pit in her stomach. She will leave him, eventually, and she shouldn't pretend that this... the domesticity... this happiness that she was feeling would last. Circumstances would always be different for her and Sherlock-and yet she couldn't quite get the courage to let all of this go just yet._

Sherlock returned to 221B, his mind fleeting wildly at the next step to be done. Seven days. That's all that's left and the ledger with Norton's clients weren't even half as accomplished. A pile of data were still out there, waiting to be exposed at the right moment.

Loosening the tie on his neck, Sherlock slumped to his chair, hands running anxiously over his hair. There was one option. One. And it has to happen.

Mycroft must help him resolve this. As much as he hated asking for assistance, only Mycroft has the power to overturn a decision once made. Irene shouldn't have been involved in the first place. His prick of a brother is at fault once more. What's new?

_You got hit hard, Sherlock." Mary said, reaching for baby Lizzy._

_"Are you going to marry her? I love weddings!" Mrs. Hudson added._

_"She'll leave eventually." Sherlock replied, his tone grim, making everyone's expression turn sad._

_"Then why is she here?" John asked sincerely, noting Sherlock's somber expression._

_"Refuge. We didn't exactly plan...this."_

If there was one thing he didn't hate Mycroft for, it was bringing him to Irene's path. It was unconventional, for he never thought he would be attached to someone this way. Irene was a face of beauty and grace but it was her mind and skill that burned through him deeply. It was the way they could speak without speaking, only thoughts colliding mid-air that made him ecstatic of her. She was never just a physical being... She was like an extension of his mind.

It bothered it as much that she never got to tell him what was wrong earlier. It was devastating that he never got to read what she was trying to say. But she was always a mystery, always a block his mind could not wrap upon.

"_You muttered her name in your sleep sometimes, you know. Whenever you fall asleep by the couch or your chair, I could hear you whispering her name." John announced, making Sherlock's face go red. He was unaware of this... All of the suppressing and the dismissing and still Irene has the ability to dominate his unconscious._

_"Why are you so sure that I... That I love her?" Sherlock asked, almost shyly. He was never a believer of romance. He thinks that marriage is unnecessary-but Irene Adler always pops into his mind when such questions rise. 'Beyond everything' as they call what they have because it was true. It was more complex than love-it was a thirst for intelligence and mystery and danger and something that is more inexplicable than the idea of holding onto someone as if your life depended on it. They weren't invested in senseless tears and illogical behaviour... They were different._

_"Because as someone who belongs to the selected few who you showed your true, kind and caring self... I know what it's like to be loved by Sherlock Holmes and I've seen you like that with Irene." John replied, scrunching his eyebrows. "That sounded awfully uncomfortable but you get the point."_

Was Godfrey Norton in on the trick too? That languid, almost too-harmless look on his face, the act of being a fanatic, it was almost too conspicuous. A trick of the mind, a play of the hand-it was like a poker game disguised as a chess match.

The younger Norton also hit Irene-that bruise on her face still visible in Sherlock's mind. There was something he was missing, not quite sure what, but if another thing comes closer to a surprise, the entire game will shift and Sherlock was not sure to what extent he could still play.

_He brushed her cheeks softly, staring at her beautiful bare face. He never thought he deserved anyone in his life and yet somehow, Irene Adler felt just right. _

The stillness of the night continued, his mind almost bruised with information. Irene's life was not the only one on the line. His own was also tipping off a scale pf judgement, the murder of Magnussen still on hand. If there was one thing he hated, it was someone holding him by the neck. Mycroft has done it their entire childhood and, as ironic as it may seemed, history was repeating itself.

Agitation rose upon his head, almost throwing and shattering his mind palace to pieces as he felt Albert Norton's ticking time bomb pressuring him deep. It was exciting and pathetic at the same time, draining and empowering.

*BEEP*

Sherlock picked up his phone, Irene's name appearing on the screen.

I'm here in 221B.

He checked his clock, 3AM flashing brightly. Irene wasn't supposed to be here, not at this hour or in any time at all.

Rushing down to stairs quietly to not wake Mrs. Hudson, he greeted Irene with an alert expression. She slid in quietly, almost leaving him by the door as she paved her way to his sitting room.

"You're not supposed to be here." Sherlock hissed as he followed behind her.

Irene's face looked exhausted, her hair loose and messy unlike earlier in the party, her eyes almost drowned with panic.

"Albert Norton's been watching Baker Street and he'll know you came by." Sherlock continued, his voice swift and exasperated as he paced his flat. "He will do everything for this wedding to push through. We'll come up with a way to postpone it, but he is sure to have a backup plan. Therefore, what's left to do is to push through with the marriage. Lucia Bennett is just a pseudo-identity, we could deal with the nullity of the marriage after but you have to act the part. The ledger is still quite full and this case could extend for weeks or months..."

"No! It can't!" Irene exclaimed, making Sherlock lose his train of thought, his head snapping to her direction.

Sherlock walked to her, his hands brushing her arms. "Why not? It's the only thing that will keep you safe for now. Act the part. I could work on this as swiftly as I can but..."

"No, Sherlock. It couldn't last for months..." Irene spat, her eyes agitated. "I couldn't marry Godfrey Norton."

"I'll have Mycroft take care of..." Sherlock started but Irene shook off his touch.

"You don't understand Sherlock. I can't marry him..." Irene said firmly, her eyes meeting his. "...because I'm pregnant."


	14. Break of Dawn

"I'm pregnant, Sherlock." Irene repeated, her words echoing in Sherlock's mind palace.

Pregnant. Irene is pregnant.

How could he have missed it? He was the first to spot Mary's first signs, for crying out loud! He weighed down the circumstances: two weeks since he last saw Irene, they had sex twice since she came back and he... he released inside of her in both instances. According to her, she had never been with Godfrey Norton or with anyone else but him. If she slept with Godfrey, whether the child was his or Sherlock's, she wouldn't be against the marriage. She could just claim the child was Godfrey's until the point that they solve this case and nullify the wedding, but clearly, this was not the situation. It was evident, all of it and it was staring him right in the face.

The child is his.

But why now? Him? A father?

Irene said she never wanted children and clearly he wasn't ready, so what will they do? Would the actuality change everything? Was her statement merely a rhetoric? She didn't want to drink the champagne back in the party so it must mean she was being careful.

For the sake of the child? Probably.

"Sherlock! I need you to talk to me." Irene exclaimed, snapping him out of his trance.

His eyes met hers, panic and confusion stretched on his face. "You're pregnant... And the child..." he choked, a pit in his stomach hollowing. "...the child is mine?"

"Yes." Irene replied.

Sherlock studied her, his eyes moving from her face to her stomach. His gaze lingered, his hands trembling, his mind unable to determine what he exactly feels of the matter.

"The child..." Sherlock repeated once more, his vocabulary seemingly abandoning him. What else is there left to say? What must be said?

Albert Norton's knowing face flashed before his eyes, a devilish smile it carries. As if the time bomb in his mind been rattled, the timer started to tick faster. What is to be done? What? What?!

"Oh God, Sherlock!" Irene exclaimed, her hand landing a slap on his face. "What do we do?"

Sherlock rubbed the stinging pain on his cheek, mind still whirring continuously. "Have you checked?"

"I peed on a stick. Twice." Irene replied, her tone clipped. The tension between them grew stronger, both unable to hide the confusion and fear in their face.

"Do you want to keep... it?" Sherlock asked, his voice cracking.

"You're not suggesting that we... I... " Irene mused, trembling.

Sherlock shook his head. "I was just asking. You said you never wanted children."

"I also said I would never fall in love again with a man and yet here I am. I'm not exact an epitome for solid decision making." She replied flatly, turning away from him.

Sherlock walked over to her, his hand slightly outstretched, fingers reaching for her stomach, face buried in her hair. He hesitated at first, then planted his hand firmly on the surface, the beating of his heart loud enough to make him deaf. "This child... is truly ours?" he asked once more.

"For someone intelligent, you sound very idiotic right now." Irene replied, eyeing him narrowly.

Sherlock's hand rubbed Irene's stomach lightly, the heat of her skin seeping through the fabric. His fingers lingered gently, trying to match the sensation of trembling and the whirring of his head. "You shouldn't be here." he whispered.

"Are you referring to me or..." Irene mused as she faced him.

"You. It's late. You should be sleeping." Sherlock replied, his hand leaving her and proceeded to running it to his hair. He couldn't think clearly, his knees feel wobbly and tired.

"I... I need to know if we have a plan." Irene said, taking him by the arm.

Sherlock cussed silently, unable to meet her eyes. She was not the only one who's life was at stake now. Their... child...

"I'll think of something. You need to go. Rest. Don't... Don't do anything that could harm both of you." Sherlock breathed, his eyes still fixed on Irene's stomach.

"Are you okay?" Irene asked, her brows furrowed in worry.

"It's a lot to process." Sherlock simply replied and Irene knew it was her cue to leave.

As she headed for the door, Sherlock ran after her, his coat at hand. "Take this. It's quite cold. I have spares."

Irene searched his eyes for anything-fear, concern, love-but Sherlock's eyes were blank, lost. She walked away, her hand landing to where Sherlock's was resting earlier, thinking what this situation could do to what's to come.

Sherlock watched as Irene's outline disappear into the dim surroundings, a memory of their separation flickering in his eyes. He noticed that he was violently trembling, an uncontrollable coldness seeping through him.

Panic enveloped him, every sensation and pressure falling on his head like the strong current of a waterfall. When he reached his flat, he was gasping for air, his face pale and his heart heavy.

He was unsure whether the fear was for his own or for Irene... The idea of another player in the game, this time in the form of their child-a child innocent and still merely nothing but an organism made from his and Irene's DNA-was something both foreign and familiar.

He remembered when the threat came to John and Mary, his mind fearful for what will become of their child being caught in the midst of a dangerous conundrum. The weight was twice as hard, for the child was now his own, the distance and coldness of his ownership versus the inevitable sentimentality constricted him by the neck.

Caught between the dilemma he was in, Sherlock felt sunlight slowly glisten as it hit the windows of his flat. A new day begins and Albert Norton's time bomb ticked louder.

The countdown to the seventh day has begun.


	15. The Day He Heard The Walls Speak

(_**Hi everyone! Thank you so much for your endless support. Is it too much to ask for your help? I'm currently in need of funds for school so I opted to to commissions for fics and fanarts so if you could help me spread the word, it would be very much appreciated. You can ask me for the details by messaging me here! Also, tell your friends about this fic if you will! Much love! ~throughtheparadox)**_

As if the sky went on to play along, the trickling rain and the rays of the sun both filled the day. The burning fire and the crumbling hope that Sherlock felt started to crush into his mind, Norton's ledger in his hand, his brain pounding every single energy he has into coming up with a plan.

Sherlock's mind raced, the exhaustion unnoticed and the throbbing in his chest dismissed. He hated it-the idea of Irene flashing in his eyes with a bundle at hand. He could hear a child's cry escape from Irene's arms, his head bursting with annoyance and confusion.

NO! he willed himself. He must focus. Focus on the problem, focus on a solution. Any solution.

Mrs. Hudson bringing in a tray of food came and left unnoticed, the worry in her face not even given a glimpse. Sherlock's eyes blazed darker and darker, his eyebrows knit close, teeth gritting in agitation. His hands were planted on his chin, the silence of the flat was nothing compared to the explosion of data in his mind.

In his ears chimed a distant sound, nothing that comes from reality but an illusion of his mind-a cry, a laugh, a shout of pain-all piercing through his ears, snapping him out from concentration.

"AAARGHHHHH!" Sherlock shouted in frustration, his hands running through his hair, anger rising up his chest. The ledger flew towards the other side of the room as Sherlock threw it in the middle of his internal dilemma, heat rushing through his every vein.

The detective stood and rummaged through one of his drawers, taking out a packet of nicotine patches. Slapping three at a time to his left arm, Sherlock felt his mind awaken, a heating sensation burning through the skin underneath the adhesive.

FOCUS. FOCUS.

He slumped down the couch, his eyes closed, letting the nicotine relax him.

But it didn't work.

"Oh for Christ's sake! It's not working..." he muttered, grabbing the packet and snapping in three more patches to his right arm.

His eyes started to water when the effects of the patches kicked in. "Right on time." he hissed at the sound of the heavy footsteps falling on the stairs, a more groomed Bill Wiggins entering his flat.

"Well?" Sherlock said, his eyes still closed.

"Fin'lly got some news from 'em in the sixth stree'. The ne'work are all on deck. Those Mr. and Mrs. Turner are up and abou' on some meeting in Dorset. Then you have 'em Johnsons in Westminster. Both misters have envelops they carry, bundles but I deduce they're decoys. Fold in their pockets, big as li'l boxes look like CDs which I believe has the real inf'mation." Wiggins reported, his tone full of pride as the new 'unofficial' head of the homeless network. "Is that six nicotine patches on your arms?"

Sherlock sat up swiftly, his hands tugging his sleeves. "Is that all? How about the others?"

Wiggins shook his head. "None. Erm... Your eyes lookin' sharp and red there. Might want to lessen those eh?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him. "You can go."

"Don't you want me to come? Since Doctor Watson is not available you might need a new assistant. This is for tha' pretty lady you fancy, yes? She's also there with her fiancé." Wiggins mused, his expression expectant and amused.

Sherlock stood and started to head to the bedroom. "Just keep me posted for any of the indicators."

Wiggins sighed. "You sure?" When Shelrock nodded, Wiggins pursed his lips while talking his leave. Sherlock then headed to his bedroom, swiftly looking for an appropriate "costume".

He stopped, figuring that it's best to hide in plain sight. Opting for a well-tailored suit and brushing up his hair to at least alter his look, Sherlock stepped out of his flat, a stretch in his chest widening. His breathing started to hitch but he took a deep breath and dismissed it as he made his way to Dorset.

Scanning the area, he figured this attire would blend in just fine. He walked the halls, eyes blazing alertly, as he searched the area. The halls seemed to go on and on, Sherlock's eyesight blurring as he clutched his chest, trying to steady his breathing.

"Are we counting on you during the wedding, then?" he heard someone say, absolute it was Irene's voice, her tone off-pitch.

Making his way to where her voice came from, Sherlock searched the walls for surveillance cameras. None. Perfect.

Sherlock saw Irene, along with Godfrey and who he figured as the Turners. He sneaked around the walls, waiting. He ran his hand over his hair once more, making sure his curls are brushed back, taking in a pair of glasses in his coat pocket. As he slid the glasses on the bridge of his nose, he shook his head as he tried to take away the buzzing in his head. Hearing them approach, Sherlock lowered his head and decided to run into Mr. Turner, bumping harshly to him as he did so.

"What in the world-?!" Mr. Turner gasped and Sherlock muttered a low apology in French. He saw in his periphery that Irene raised her eyebrows, Godfrey turning as he disappeared against the nearest wall. Sherlock slipped in his coat the case he got from Turner's pocket, his 'pickpocketing' lessons from Wiggin finally put to use.

"What happened?" Godfrey kindly asked, his hand on the man's shoulder.

"Guess that man's in a rush... Probably a tourist." Mr. Turner replied as he took Mrs. Turner's hand. "Well, we'll take our leave then, Godfrey! Regards to your father."

He heard Irene give a cheery goodbye, Godfrey echoing her enthusiasm as they bid away with the Turners. Sherlock was about to leave when he heard a thump from the wall just perpendicular to when he was hiding.

Taking a slight peek, Sherlock saw Godfrey backing Irene up against the wall, a violent smile upon his face.

"Try a little harder... You're an accessory to this, Lucia. I don't know what my father had let on but his deal should be a success and the only way that old scoundrel Turner agrees to it is because he fancies you." Sherlock heard Godfrey say, the cheery and innocent tone he always uses around other people completely turned upside down.

"You're pathetic... Just like them. Just like your father. Why do I even put up with you? You've been lying to me, pretending to be someone else this entire time." Irene spat.

"If you think I don't sense your dirty past, Lucia, think twice. Our wedding is in a week so I decided, why not make you see the real me? In fact, why not let me get to know the real you?" Godfrey replied, his tone poisonous like a snakes.


	16. The Day He Shut Down

(**Hi everyone! Sorry if this took a while. I'm currently going through something really tough right now so... *sighs* anyway, I hope you enjoy!)**

_The first time he saw her, it wasn't the fact that she was naked that surprised him-it was her boldness to strike him like that, to catch him off guard that made her someone he was interested about._

_She was a woman of grace and beauty, a face definitely captivating, and when she started to challenge him, he was again taken by her. _

_When John entered the room and broke the connection of their eyes, he felt guarded and somewhat annoyed. He wasn't done studying her, wasn't done trying to assess the feeling she started to invoke in him. _

_When she started to flaunt her entirety to both him and John, Sherlock was astounded. It wasn't about her sexuality or her presence, it was the way she knows exactly how to play the other people in the room with her, this business of powerplay seemingly piquing his interest more. _

_Sherlock knows where to look, he just opted not to be affected by it. She was a gorgeous woman but women are distracting. Thoughts of passion and lust are factors that cloud the mind and Sherlock did not welcome them the slightest. Her bodily proportions are not what he eyed but rather it was the way her move was somewhat calculated, her mind knowing exactly what to do next as if it was an elaborate plan. _

_As John made his point to sit beside her on the couch that day in Belgravia, Sherlock felt an air of annoyance. He felt interrupted and at the attempt of John to flirt with Irene by asking "And you like policemen?" Sherlock sensed the doctor trying to relate his being an army doctor to what a policeman is: andrenaline-filled, action-based... So when Irene replied, "I like detective stories and detectives," his brain malfunctioned a little,* trying to comprehend if she dismissed John's advances to make a point. _

_He internally cursed himself for messing up what he was about to say in reply to her, that amused look on her face driving him more curious that ever. Who is this woman? _

_She beat him and drugged him and he heard her while he was probably hallucinating from what she injected him. She figured out the case of the hiker-with-the-bashed-on-head and he was sure there was something complimentary somewhere when she said "You got that with one look? Definitely the new sexy." _

_Waking up in Baker Street, he was certain she has been here, watching him. John insisted she wasn't, but as soon as he heard that soft moan coming from the coat pocket of his Belfstaff in which he made her wear, he was certain that she was a gamechanger. _

_She was The Woman. _

/

Irene.

He hasn't seen her even after that close encounter they had in Dorset. His mind was still a cluttered mess, three nicotine patches visible on each of his arms. He was staring at the decrypted data in his laptop, the one he got from Mr. Turner's coat pocket.

It was easy to decode, almost as if it was meant to be that way and at that, Sherlock became skeptical. Nothing much were on the files, just random names that he researched and found nothing significant in the process.

Bill Wiggins entered the flat, shucking off the hat he was wearing. "'ere you go. Files I go' from the Johnsons." he said, helping himself to the untouched food beside Sherlock.

"Grea' stuff this is. D'you mind if I finish 'em?" he continued, nodding over the tray of food and Sherlock slightly nodded, his eyes on the USB Wiggins handed.

There was something very simple about all of this, he figured, like it was being planted for them to find. But still, without any lead this is the best they have.

Plugging in the USB, Sherlock found the same decrypted data, only with a few variations. He traced the pattern, whatever message it might lead him but it comes as a dead end.

"You look ter'ble. Bloodshot eyes and pale skin... Tsk tsk. But you know that don' ya?" Wiggins mused and Sherlock rolled his eyes at him.

"Why are you still here?" Sherlock snapped.

Wiggins raised his palms up, giving a mock curtsey. "Alrigh'... I'm off. I'm off. A thank you would be..."

"Leave."

"Okay... Okay..." And with that Wiggins left.

Sherlock stood up, slamming the door behind him. As he made his way back to his chair, his knees buckled and he almost fell flat on his face. Sherlock gasped for air, his hands trembling violently.

"Arrrghhhhh! This is pathetic!" He shouted, planting his palms firmly on the floor to prop him up.

Staggering to get to his chair, Sherlock cursed under his breath as felt his insides burning. He gave a sigh of relief when his back touched the soft surface of the chair, his breathing uneven but not quite painful.

Grabbing his laptop and trying one last time to run the data in his mind, he screeched in frustration as nothing that bursted as an idea into his mind seemed senseless after a third-level analysis. He ran his hands over his curls in anger, hot blood rising up his neck in distress.

His mind fleeted to Irene and their child, more pain seething up his head. Another issue he hasn't dealt with quite yet: being a parent. What was he supposed to do with this piece of information? He needed to fix this case, needed to save her-them. He was sure of that need.. And yet, for whatever reason, he was still unsure. Does he want this? Would he ever?

When his paths crossed with Irene Adler, it was a moment of confusion, of loss and of gain. She was someone he regarded highly (which he doesn't do much in terms of majority of the Earth's population) and never did he imagine it would reach this stage. Him and her... With a child. Oh what will the child become, he thought.

His fingers unconsciously going on circles on the patches on his arm, an air of fatigue brushed through him. His vision started to blur as he felt himself tremble, the names on his laptop screen were nothing more than a stream of lines.

His lids started to feel heavy and as the clock stroked 12, his hand fell limp to his sides, eyes shutting close as a new day approached.


	17. The Day They Fell Apart

The sound of the heart monitor rang in Sherlock's ears, his eyes not quite ready to open yet. He could partially feel the IV on his nerve, his back flat on a soft bed, the scent of immense sanitation in the air.

The hospital. Hm.

Suddenly, he heard voices, low as whispers.

"Bloody bastard, isn't he?" John Watson mused, his voice sounding annoyed and concerned at the same time.

"I know he really doesn't eat much or sleep much during a case but these last few days he just... *sighs*...looks so pale and sickly." replied Mrs. Hudson.

"Then there's the nicotine patches. Six at a time! For a smart person, Sherlock can be a bloody idiot!" Lestrade exclaimed, pitching in the conversation.

"Maybe he's under a lot of stress. He hasn't been at Bart's too. This case is killing him." Molly said, exasperated.

Silence filled the room then, all just giving out heavy breaths and tongue clicking. Then Mary started to speak. "Has anyone told Irene yet?"

At the sound of her name, Sherlock stirred, forcing his eyes to open. With the bright white room almost blinding him for a moment, Sherlock looked around and saw the his company all in nightgowns and bed heads. He deduced they rushed immediately upon hearing the news of his... whatever it is that happened to him.

"And the devil wakes." John hissed, glaring at him.

"You're all in your pyjamas." Sherlock mused, his voice hoarse from disuse.

"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock." John replied.

The detective scanned their faces, all tinged with worry and annoyance. He wanted to give a snide remark-probably tell them that he's fine, that this is for a case, that he doesn't need their sympathy-but the gesture of them running up to his aide, regardless of time and circumstance made him bite his tongue. Instead, he gave a low apology.

At that, Lestrade almost choked on his coffee. Mary, Molly and Mrs. Hudson gave him a warm smile and John just shrugged.

"What happened, eh? You haven't been like this since I met you." Lestrade mused, wiping the coffee he spouted off his chin.

Sherlock looked at him, a gaze of appreciation his eyes held. "The wedding has been moved." he checked the clock. "Just four days left and I still haven't found the main source of the data."

The room was filled with surprised expressions and Sherlock realised how much he distanced himself from anyone (more than usual, that is) to work on this case alone. It was infuriating but never did he want to admit he needed help, especially if it means dragging them all into this Norton business.

"You could have told us." Mary said, reaching for his hand. "This is a national-scale problem, Sherlock. You're not invincible."

"I think he believes he is." Molly mused, giving him a weak smile. "We want to help, Sherlock. That's what friends do."

Sherlock nodded, his head hanging low as he did so. It was never just about the case. It was about him and Irene and because of this, he wanted to handle this alone. He wanted to prove to himself and to the universe that not everything about the him and Irene is destructive. That they could live side-by-side, two beings whose minds have met among all the others, without endanger anyone else in their lives.

However, Sherlock was still bothered.

"He's on screensaver again." Mary said, noting the detective's expression. John huffed, expecting this to happen. They turned at the sound of the door opening and everyone smiled, welcoming the visitor. The doctor tapped his friend's shoulder a bit hard and Sherlock's head snapped to his direction.

"What?" Sherlock asked, his voice tired.

"Irene's here." John answered and Sherlock found Irene standing amongst his guests, her eyes wild in panic but her face tried to look composed.

"You can't be here." Sherlock said coldly, his eyes leaving hers.

Mary fake-coughed, her hand reaching for John. "Erm... We'll grab some breakfast. Would you like anything? No? Okay."

In a swift moment, they were left alone, silence filling the air.

"You were there the other day." Irene said, still standing from a distance. When Sherlock didn't reply, she continued. "And you heard."

Of course he heard. He could still remember it vividly.

/

_"You're pathetic... Just like them. Just like your father. Why do I even put up with you? You've been lying to me, pretending to be someone else this entire time." Irene spat. _

_"If you think I don't sense your dirty past, Lucia, think twice. Our wedding is in a week so I decided, why not make you see the real me? In fact, why not let me get to know the real you?" Godfrey replied, his tone poisonous like a snakes. _

_Sherlock heard the sound of a slap and he peeked in to see Godfrey caressing his cheek. "Lucia, I-I'm so sorry. I only meant..." He saw him hold Irene by the arms, eyes suddenly full of fear. "You know I love what I do back in New York. I... My father will kill me if I didn't take on this business... The pressure, Lucia. You must understand... He will kill me and I need you with me on this. I love you." _

_Sherlock turned as he saw Godfrey plant his lips on Irene, fighting the urge to intrude at there little moment. _

_"After our wedding, I will find a way to take us away from this. I promise." he heard Godfrey say. _

_"And what if you can't? What'll happen?" Irene replied. _

_"I will find a way. I will do everything to be with you. You will always come first to me, Lucia. I... I'm so sorry." Godfrey swore. _

_Sherlock stole another look at them and found Irene's eyes soften. He could never forget the way she nodded, taking Godfrey's hand as if holding him off on that promise. The detective felt a lump form on his throat, knowing that he when he had Irene, he never gave that promise-always putting the logical things first before what he felt for her. _

_/_

"It was all an act, Sherlock." Irene said, reaching for him but hesitating when she saw him flinch at her attempt. "You don't actually think..."

"I don't think he knows that." Sherlock replied.

"Since when do you care about other people's feelings? Especially the one that actually threatens your life?" Irene asked, somehow agitated.

He looked at her then, really looked at her, the expression in his eyes telling. "I don't care about him. I... I care about you." he replied, his voice almost a whisper.

"Is this about what he said? Because I don't really care, Sherlock. I was acting." Irene made her point clear, her hands trembling.

"The wedding's in a week. What are you planning to do with..." Sherlock's eyes lingered from her face to her stomach and Irene rolled her eyes.

"What do you want me to do? I trust you. You can finish this in time. I told you... I'll hel-"

Whatever it is that Irene was about to say was cut off when Sherlock ripped the tube of his arm and gripped her arms. "You can't help me. No one can help me in this, Irene! And we can't... That's another problem we have to..."

"Problem?! You call THIS a problem, Sherlock?!" Irene shouted back, getting away from Sherlock's grip. "When I said I didn't want children, it's because I was afraid. Afraid that I may just turn out to be like my mother! But when... But because you are the father, the fear dissolved. I know this child will be brave and brilliant and amazing... I guess I was wrong. You are a coward, Sherlock Holmes!"

"Godfrey Norton may be a better father, is that what this is?" Sherlock snapped back, his eyes blazing.

Irene looked appalled, tears welling up her eyes. She tried to compose herself, a coldness filling her demeanour. "Your words, Sherlock. Not mine."

"You could've called it off when he started to harass you. But you didn't. Why? Was it really all on act or is it because you wanted an ally no matter which side you fall into?" Sherlock hissed.

"I'm doing it for you, Sherlock. I thought you know that." Irene simply replied, heading for the door.


	18. The Day The Watsons Extended Their Help

(**_Hey guys! Welcome to the fourth day of the countdown to Irene and Godfrey's big day! I will post the events of the seventh day on Christmas as my gift to all of you! Advance happy holidays y'all!) _**

"Ever since Irene left yesterday, he wouldn't let anyone in. Threw a tray on the nurse last night... Tsk... Tsk... I already explained-erm-Sherlock. She understood." Molly said, her eyebrows scrunched together as she talked to John.

"Why can't they just be like any other couple? Jeez!" John complained, laughing as soon as he realised what he said and Molly joined him.

"Maybe he's fine now. If he would let in someone, it's you. You have to talk to him, John." Molly chimed, giving out a deep breath.

John sighed, his hand on the door. Molly gave him an encouraging nod and John started knocking. "Sherlock, it's me. Can I come in?"

Silence.

John rolled his eyes and knocked again. "I would kick this door down, you know I would."

Still nothing.

"Let's just let him..." Molly started but the door opened slightly. Sherlock stood by the door, his face still pale and his eyes red. He turned away immediately, a gesture that shows he was letting John inside against his will.

The doctor raised his eyebrows at Molly before following in, his eyes trained on Sherlock's exhausted stance. Sherlock sat back on the bed, ruffling his hair and John sat across him in a chair, clearing his throat before speaking.

"Care to tell me what happened?" John asked, studying Sherlock. He noticed that the detective had the same look he had back in Baskerville-shaken and unnerved to the point of impossibility.

Sherlock merely looked at his friend, his hands on his face. "John... Can I ask you something?"

John leaned in, eager to answer. "What is it?"

"When you found out what-or who Mary was, and as you recall she was pregnant at the time, you seemed confused and mad." Sherlock pointed out.

Realising it was the end of the statement, John raised his eyebrows. "I don't hear a question, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed, hands trembling. "What were your exact thoughts at that moment? Of course, it can't be that accurate-the human mind can only take you far back as 10 to 15 seconds into accuracy and then everything else will be fabricated by brain activity but..."

"Wha-Wait. Is Irene..." John started, noticing the shift in Sherlock's demeanour when he asked. "Wow. I-erm-that's what this is about, isn't it?"

"You sound amused." Sherlock said simply.

John smiled, still the look of surprise on his face. "Is this why you're going loopy? It's..." Whatever it is that John was gonna say, it was drowned by his laughter. Sherlock looked at him, confused.

"Something funny, John?" Sherlock muttered.

John looked at him, wondering if Sherlock didn't really catch why he was amused. Of course, he didn't. He was Sherlock, for crying out loud!

"You and Irene as parents. Huh. So that's what's stressing you out! It all makes sense now." John mused and Sherlock remained confused. John continued. "We were all worried because we thought this case was draining you four times as hard as Moriarty or Magnussen. It's just not like you at all."

Sherlock remained silent, his eyes fixed on the wall. John wasn't making any sense. It was a simple question which requires a simple answer and yet, somehow he found it funny. How absurd.

"If you can't answer it then what's the use of you here, John?" Sherlock replied, exasperated. John merely rolled his eyes.

"Are you scared?" John asked, wiping the smile off his face.

Sherlock looked at him, his stare glassy. It took his a while to answer back. "Yes."

"For Irene and the baby or for yourself?" John asked again, studying Sherlock. The detective cussed, his face carrying "the look" as John calls it. Sherlock ran his hands through his hair, his teeth gritting as he looked for his response.

"Both of them will be better off without me." Sherlock whispered.

John scoffed as he frowned, shaking his head. "If you could be someone's bestfriend, Sherlock, then why can't you be a parent?"

"You're comparison lacks better logi-"

"Oh shut up. Stop being smart for once. Just... Do you want to be with Irene? Do you want the child? It's as easy as yes or no. Throw away logic for once and... and listen to your heart." John said, eyeing Sherlock at the sight of a starting remark. "And I mean listen to your heart in a figurative sense. Don't go all 'but the heart is just a muscle and it's really the brain' blah blah blah on me."

At that, Sherlock smiled but not quite reaching his eyes. "Thank you."

John stood up and clapped Sherlock's back. "I'm always here, mate... Erm... But I have to leave for now. Mary's gone off somewhere and I'll get Lizzie."

Sherlock nodded as John bid goodbye. With thoughts lingering to an epiphany, Sherlock's eyes lit up as he eyed the window.

/

Irene heard a knock on her door and Mary Watson greeted her. As they slid into the sitting room, Irene gave her visitor a worried look.

"Are you sure it's okay for you to be here? The house is being watched." she said.

"I can handle myself, dear." Mary replied with a smile, showing a gun hidden on her waistband.

Irene raised her eyebrows, impressed by John's wife. "I'm sorry for running off like that yesterday without greeting everyone properly. It's just... You know..."

Mary nodded. "He's not letting anyone inside his room since yesterday."

"He is stubborn." Irene mused, smiling sadly.

Mary reached out, her hand on Irene's. "We'll help you. This case is draining Sherlock out and clearly we need to get you out of this situation..."

"I don't think that's what's stressing Sherlock out..." Irene breathed.

Mary stared at her in confusion, her head slightly tilting to the side. Irene sighed as she replied. "I'm... Sherlock and I are... I'm pregnant."

Mary gasped, her eyes lighting up. "Oh... Oh my goodness... Irene this is wonderful news..."

Irene's face fell and Mary realised that this was not something to celebrate about. They were in the middle of a crisis and Mary saw Irene's eyes starting to well up.

"I thought that being emotional when your pregnant was a myth... Ha ha..." Irene said, giving a fake laugh as she wiped her eyes.

"I know that we haven't even spent time when we met before, but John told me about you and Sherlock-how you met, how he was like when you faked your death... I was there, however, when you left. Four years Irene... Sherlock can be difficult but he loves you... And you know that."

Irene nodded, softly smiling. "He's such a prick sometimes, though, isn't he?"

"That he is." Mary replied, chuckling. "We'll help out, Irene. Even if you and Sherlock protest, we will help. And unlike the last time, we don't want both of you to think of us and our safety. For once, we just want you two to do what makes you happy."

"Oh how I love you, Mary Watson!" Irene said, her eyes shining in gratitude.

RING! RING!

"It's John." Mary said as she answered the call. "Hello?"

Irene raised her eyebrows as Mary gave her a surprise look, shaking her head at John's words.

"Sherlock escaped from the hospital?!"


	19. The Day When They Went Shakespearian

**_(Hey everyone! Tell your fellow adlockers if you love the story! Kiss kiss! ~throughtheparadox)_**

Almost 24 hours and still no sign of Sherlock Holmes.

Irene asked Mary to keep the news of her pregnancy between herself and John and of course they agreed. Everyone set out to look for Sherlock but gave up as soon as the sun set down. Wiggins went to meet them on Baker Street and said that Sherlock wanted to be left alone.

"Hello?" Irene greeted as soon as she heard Mary's voice on the other line. "Any news?"

"No. But he's been calling people, arranging things. A tux arrived in Baker Street earlier according to Mrs. Hudson." Mary replied. Irene heard John's voice on the background.

"Is that her?" said John and Mary affirmed. "Give me the phone... Erm... Hello?"

Irene smiled a little. "Yes, John?"

"I... I think he's preparing for the wedding." John mused and Irene heard Mary laugh. "Really John? As if that's not obvious." The doctor's wife replied, chuckling happily. Irene joined in as well.

"Ganging up on me, aren't you? So are like bestfriends now?" John said and Irene imagined him rolling his eyes.

"Yes, I think we are." Irene replied, a smile stretched across her face. Her hand unconsciously brushed over her stomach, her thoughts lingering on Sherlock. Their previous encounter was forgotten, her heart knowing that without that hesitation and overthinking, he wouldn't be the man she loved.

She heard Mary grab the phone back and Irene snapped out of her reverie.

"We'll let you know if we hear from him again." said Mary and Irene thanked her. Putting the phone down, she sighed.

Her thoughts flew to the child she was carrying, thinking how life could've been so much easier if she was not who she was and Sherlock was not who he is and they were just an ordinary couple expecting a child. Would it be exciting? Breathtaking?

She heard a rapping on the door and peeped through the hole only to be greeted by her fiancé's face.

"Hi." Godfrey said, letting himself inside Irene's residence.

"It's late. What're you doing here?" Irene asked, hiding the annoyance in her voice.

"I... I wanted to make it up to you. We're gonna be married the day after tomorrow and I want to set things right." Godfrey said, his hands skimming Irene's arms.

Irene gave him a smile. "We've talked about this. I'm okay. We're okay."

Godfrey smiled back, leaning in to plant a kiss on Irene's lips. Irene wanted to push him away but knows she shouldn't so she pulled away gently when Godfrey's hands started exploring her body.

"What's the matter?" Godfrey asked, a drunken look on his face.

"Can't we wait until the honeymoon?" Irene asked, putting her hands between them.

Godfrey chuckled, nuzzling her neck. "Don't tell me you've never..."

Irene rolled her eyes and tried to think of a plan. "Yes. Exactly. Erm... I just want to it be... you know... special. Erm... Or some beer could probably get me going. What do you say?" she proposed and Godfrey looked slightly annoyed but he nodded, paving his way to her bedroom.

Grumbling to herself at his actions, Irene went to the kitchen to get some beers from the refrigerator. Irene replaced the content of one can with iced tea, the child in her womb in her mind. As she entered the bedroom, Godfrey was reclined on the bed, a sultry look on his eyes.

'Seriously?' Irene thought to herself but acted as if she was seduced. Sitting beside him, she handed him a beer can and he started drinking. Godfrey leaned in to her, kissing her arms and Irene can feel her insides turning. Handing him a second can of beer, one that she injected with a sedative, she smiled at him once he chugged it down.

A few minutes later, the sedative kicked in and Godfrey Norton was knocked out.

"Good thing I don't have my riding crop. I could've beaten the hell out you, you prick." Irene hissed as she tried if he was really unconscious.

Irene rushed to get herself into a warm shower, wanting to be rid of Godfrey's scent off her body. Her fingers skimmed through her belly, smiling as she did so.

"Where are you, Sherlock?" she sighed.

Drying herself off and putting on her night clothes, Irene checked on Godfrey and smirked when she saw him still.

Pacing in the sitting room, Irene checked her phone and found a text.

GUEST ROOM TERRACE.

Irene rushed to the guest room and found a familiar figure standing on the terrace. She opened the door and he turned, his collar turned up, scarf in place-an image of perfection.

Sherlock Holmes.

Irene felt her bottled up emotions creep up to her neck, her hand trembling at her sides when she saw him. Sherlock opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to say was lost when Irene slapped him.

"Wha-what was that for?" Sherlock hissed, his hand caressing his cheek.

Irene crossed her arms on her chest, her grey eyes blazing. "For making everyone worry about you." she replied, he voice cracking. "Where have you been?"

"I needed some time to think. Gather evidence. Work things out." Sherlock replied.

"Be Sherlock Holmes, is that it?" Irene spat, rolling her eyes. Sherlock wanted to protest but decided against it.

"Are you sure your guest is fast asleep?" Sherlock asked instead, eyeing the corridor since Irene left the guest room door ajar.

Irene nodded. "How long have you been here?"

"Your fiancé and I arrived the same time, I was tailing him and led me here. I figured you'd handle him quite well." Sherlock explained. "I wasn't disappointed."

Irene stared at him, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. She was overwhelmed with so many feelings, watching Sherlock's gaze on her. Cursing to herself, Irene launched herself at the detective, her fingers running through his curls, and he put his arms around her for support. His lips moved passionately against her, hands gliding up and down her back.

"I thought you were mad at me." Sherlock said, smirking when Irene pulled away.

"Wipe that smile off your face." Irene said, frowning. "I still am."

"Then why'd you kiss me?" Sherlock blinked, confused.

Irene rolled her eyes. "Sometimes I wonder why I love you, Sherlock, and I realised this is exactly why. I'm insane."

Sherlock smiled at that, looking at her. His eyes suddenly went alert, holding her gaze. "I have a plan laid out. I've established a pattern in all the data I've gathered, seeing that the pattern is not a pattern."

"I'm not catching you, Sherlock." Irene said.

"The pattern, Irene. It's not a pattern." Sherlock mused, making her understand.

Irene looked at him, her face reflected on his blue eyes. Slowly, Sherlock's words echoed in her head and she understood.

"If... If that's the case, then what's the plan?" Irene asked, a smile lighting in her face.


	20. The Day The Stage Was Set

Sherlock sat, his eyes fixed far away.

With his tux hanging on the closet door and his shoes polished for tomorrow's wedding, he could only wish that everything will fall accordingly.

Of course his calculations were sure to be precise, having laid out almost 7 possible scenarios in his head. All of which were described and fed to his friends.

Friends. Yes.

Sherlock thought deep and hard, realising that if he had let John, Lestrade and just everyone who was offering their help, things could've been easier. Of course he wasn't the catalyst for seeking assistance but he saw no other option.

Mycroft phoned him, though, asking about the progress of the case and Sherlock just hissed at him, annoyed. His brother have yet to be of use to his case, but rather, he just came in prancing in and about, acting like a know-it-all. But then again, Sherlock found out that Mycroft was told to step out of the matters at hand, considering this task was given to Sherlock as part of the amends of the Magnussen issue.

Sherlock shook his head slightly, dismissing thoughts of understanding his brother. Of course Mycroft could intrude, orders or not. He was Mycroft for crying out loud!

But still, Sherlock could handle this.

The pattern is not a pattern.

He was glad Irene caught what he was trying to say. This isn't a matter of playing the game, it was a matter of getting into it-indulging all of what they have into this upcoming event.

It was a not a case anymore, it was a production.


	21. When The Wedding Bells Sung of Death

(_**Advance **_**_Merry Christmas everyone! I'll leave the house tomorrow so I decided to post it this Christmas Eve! Here it is. The Wedding Day! Enjoy loves!)_**

"_How did you know?" Irene asked, looking up at him as she also catch her breath. _

_Sherlock softly smiled. "I didn't, initially. I actually believed you were... happy with him." _

_"But?" Irene asked. _

_"I felt your pulse when we danced, when you returned my kiss at the morgue... Even if you denied, even if you tried to hurt me as I did today, spitting those words at you- are we really that easy to fool?" Sherlock replied. "Then there's my prick brother, which completes the equation." _

_Irene's eyebrows furrowed. "But I still have to be with Godfrey. To be wed to him, if I must. I don't want you to get involved too much. You can take this case but not to the point that you'll personally be within their radius." _

_With that Sherlock's expression shifted. "You'll still marry him." _

_"If it falls to that, yes." Irene replied. _

_"Then this case must end sooner than it should be." Sherlock breathed. "You know you can't keep me off it. Not now." _

_Irene rolled her eyes, but she knew deep down that whether she pushed him away or not, Sherlock will never back down especially since Albert personally challenged him. _

_"This is a mistake." Irene whispered._

_"I know... And it will never happen again." Sherlock replied grimly, still his arm around Irene. _

_"Another goodbye?" Irene asked. _

_"Something to keep before whatever else happens." Sherlock answered. _

/

Sherlock Holmes did not sleep.

He sat motionlessly on his chair the entire night, winding the plan over and over in his mind. His fingers stared fidgeting, the faint rays of the sun flickering in a distance. Twiddling his phone in his hand, Sherlock called Irene.

At the third ring she answered. "Sherlock."

Sherlock almost smiled at the sound of her voice, his heart steadying in pace. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Irene replied.

"Seven possibilities-all of which are likely to happen. Human error will make or break this plan." Sherlock said, his eyes fixed faraway.

"Yes. And if you bleed, I'll still go on with it." Irene replied, her voice almost cracking at that.

Sherlock closed his eyes, nodding. "And same with me to you."

Irene sighed from the other end of the line and Sherlock could almost imagine her putting on a brave face. Sherlock listened to the sound of her breathing, dismissing the thought that tis might be the last time he'll hear it.

"Irene... I..." Sherlock started but Irene shushed him.

"We can do this. We are in fact Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler, are we not?" Irene said, a smile to her voice.

/

Arriving at the beautiful gardens of Coombe Abbey, Sherlock surveyed the grounds, John by his side. They saw the arc where the minister would stand and Sherlock's eyes looked out for the bride and groom. He was suddenly aware of the halls filling with chatter, the guests spilling from the halls and the gates, all in glamorous garb.

Sherlock and John took their seats as Godfrey Norton came, his father by his side. Albert eyed Sherlock, a sardonic smile in his face. All took their places and John clapped Sherlock's back for assurance.

The sound of the piano played in and everyone's eyes turned to what is behind them. Irene started walking, her beautiful face behind the sheer veil, her bejewelled white dress shining in the sunlight. Her eyes found Sherlock's, those blazing blue eyes drinking in her image and the pain in them almost visible.

Her eyes trailed from the detective to the aisle, braving on a smile as if nothing dangerous was yet to come. As Irene reached for Godfrey's arm, Sherlock felt a lump rise up his throat. John frowned, his eyes trained on his friend.

As the minister was about to speak, Albert Norton turned to face everyone, a huge smile on his face.

"Everyone. Before we start, I would love to greet everyone who are in attendance of my son's wedding. Unfortunately, I'm afraid the celebration has been used to trick us... Steal from us, if you will. What's sadder is that it's from my son and his fiancée's supposed friends." Albert announced and the room was filled with gasps.

"If everyone could just turn their attention to that gentleman and his companion." Albert pointed, his finger struck on Sherlock. "I guess we are all familiar with that great Sherlock-"

Albert's voice was cut mid-sentence as the sound of a gunshot filled the air.

Gone was the kind look on Godfrey Norton's face, a revolver in his hand. Irene fell to her knees, her hands covering her ears. "He was quite a mouthful, wasn't he?"

Screams echoed and there were people running, frightened looks in their faces. Even the minister fled, but all was drowned as Sherlock and Godfrey's eyes met.

"Sherlock? What's going on?" John asked, his gun at hand, eyes flying from guest to guest who made their way to leave.

"He was never the mind of this plan, wasn't he? It was you all along." Sherlock said, ignoring John's question and his eyes only focused on the younger Norton.

Irene stood, shaking. "What's going on, Godfrey?"

Godfrey smiled wickedly, scratching his chin with his revolver. "Oh don't sound so surprised, Lucia... Or should I say, Ms. Irene Adler?"

"You monster." Irene spat, stepping away from him, but he caught her arm.

Sherlock's eyes blazed, looking at Godrey's grip on Irene and he stepped in closer. "You have been claiming the clients of your father, making him think you were just following him when in fact it was him who was following you."

"Sherlock, what do we do?" John whispered, but Sherlock merely looked at him.

Godfrey smiled, his gun pointing to John. "Sorry. This conversation's best left to us three."

And he took the shot.

"No!" Sherlock gasped, his arms wrapping around John's suddenly limp body. "John? John!"

Irene wrestled with Godfrey's grip but he hit her with the end of her gun, her forehead trickling with blood as she fell, half-conscious.

"Lovely to look at, isn't she?" Godfrey hissed, brushing a loose strand on Irene's pained face.

Sherlock was about to grab John's gun but Godfrey kicked it out of reach. "It's over. I will be the most powerful man in this nation, all bending at my whims for every secret I withhold. The power, the prestige... All thanks to you being distracted by your love for Irene Adler."

The flicker in Sherlock's eyes darkened, his gaze flying from the blood from John and Irene. Godfrey Norton's gun was pointed in between his eyes, Sherlock gave him a dark smile, almost taunting as he spoke.

"If I were the one distracted, then shouldn't you have noticed that this was all an act." said Sherlock Holmes as the sound of a bullet escaping its barrel pierced into the air.


	22. Final Act

(**_Guys, who here ships Mollstrade? Just curious!) _**

A shot.

Sherlock Holmes saw himself bleed, blood spilling from the middle of his abdomen. His face went as white as sheet, his eyes blurring to Irene as he saw her hit Godfrey Norton with the end of John's gun.

Norton's forehead bled, but he was steady enough to hit Irene across the face, her lip filling with blood in the process.

"Is this the distraction you're talking about? How pathetic!" Godfrey spat, his sleeve turning red as he wiped the blood off his eyes.

Irene ran to Sherlock, her hand on the where he was bleeding, his eyes focused on her. She laid his head on her chest, Sherlock's breathing shallow. "I will end you." she hissed towards the enemy. At that Norton laughed.

Sherlock strained, directing his eyes on his fallen friend John Watson, his eyes glinting with madness as he slipped his hand on Irene's, taking the gun from her.

"So this is why you don't want me to touch you! The reason why you flinch at my every initiation of contact. You love him. How... disgusting." Godfrey laughed. "If you think you could outsmart me now, more than ever, you're wrong. You bought every piece I had wanted you to take in."

Irene started to stagger, her vision blurring as well as she held Sherlock, whose hand was trembling as he held the gun. The air was filled with the smell of blood, the room spinning. Godfrey saw how they were both weakened and took the chance to step in Sherlock's wrist, causing the gun to fall away. Grabbing Irene by her hair, Godfrey tilted her face to him, seeing how she was almost unconscious due to the blood trickling from her hairline and her lips. At that, Sherlock spoke, voice hoarse.

"You had the information all along. All of it. Those pieces of data you spread out were false and not even your clients knew about it."

At that, Norton clapped his hands and Irene's head fell over Sherlock's, her eyes tired. "Finally, you caught up!"

Sherlock held Irene, his eyes flickering to John's fallen form to Irene's bloody face. Studying the smug look on Norton's face, Sherlock figured he had the ace. "No copies, all yours. Clever. You know computers could be hacked, drives could be stolen. This is like Magnussen all over again."

Twiddling the gun on his hand, Godfrey smiled sardonically. "But unlike Magnussen, I won."

"No, you didn't." Sherlock muttered, the strain in his voice gone.

"Wha-" Godfrey exclaimed, surprise evident in his face as John jumped from behind him and tackled him to the ground. Sherlock grabbed Godfrey's gun and tossed John's gun back to the army doctor, who pointed it on Norton's head. Irene suddenly woke, her one hand on her bloodied head, the other phoning Lestrade who immediately entered the hall with backup behind him.

"What the hell is this?!" Godfrey shouted, a maniacal look in his eyes.

"While you were busy being all high and mighty, we had your house, you office and your other safehouses searched. The pattern you set out for us to find is not a pattern at all. It's a false trail-one we almost bought. But it was too obvious, attention seeking. Poorly made." Sherlock told him, pressing on every word. "I got your confession here as well." he continued, showing him a voice recorder. "I believe it'll be an easy conviction."

The Detective Inspector made the arrest, nodding to Sherlock as Donovan and a couple more police officers led Norton out the hall with cuffed hands. Mary also rushed in (and Sherlock saw a gun peeking out from the band of her pants) to meet her husband. John pulled out the vest hidden beneath his shirt, as well as an erupted blood bag which caused the effect of a fatal gunshot wound.

Sherlock did the same, the blood bag he pulled out almost dried out compared to his shirt, which was soaked.

"The blood bags are from Molly?" Greg asked, not hiding the amusement in his voice. Sherlock nodded.

"Since it was just a distraction, a production was needed to be set. Of course John could've acted better. I saw him move, once or twice." Sherlock said and John rolled his eyes at him.

"A thank you would be nice." John said and Mary laughed, shushing him.

Sherlock smiled at them, then at Irene. He signalled a medic to tend to her, his hand touching her face. "I'll check the others and come back for you."

"You don't have to treat me like a damsel in distress. I'm fine, Sherlock Holmes." she said playfully, kissing Sherlock's hand. He nodded at her, a soft smile in his eyes which she returned.

Lestrade cleared his throat and Sherlock's stern gaze returned as he followed the Detective Inspector out of the hall and into the grounds.

"The others?" Sherlock asked.

"As soon as they came running out the place, we rounded them all up, warrants all arranged and ready." Lestrade replied.

"I assume Mycroft is looking into this personally." Sherlock said and Lestrade nodded in confirmation.

"I... Erm..." Sherlock cleared his throat, almost mumbling. "Thank you."

Lestrade stood there, a look of confusion and surprise stretching on his face. "Are you sure you didn't get shot?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Just accept it, Graeme."

"That's the Sherlock I know." Lestrade said, smiling and clapping the detective's back.

The exhaustion filled Sherlock's body, but the satisfaction was much more exhilarating. As he turned to go back to the hall, his eyes met Mary's and he saw the panic in them. She ran to him and he knew the words she would utter even before she spoke.

"Irene's bleeding. The baby..."

(**_Hello! Hope you've had a lovely Christmas. Just a heads up to everyone, there had been attacks towards fandom bloggers in Tumblr, starting with Supernatural fans and has been spreading every since. The targets are those with suicidal or self-harm tendencies. I have been helping out some efforts in Tumblr along with many others and because of this, had been a target as well and I hope you extend your prayers to those being attacked. Some have already been hospitalised, traumatised etc. Message me over at throughtheparadox in Tumblr if you wanna help out/inquire about the circumstances.) _**


	23. Doubts and Assurances

"Lemme get something straight... Irene is pregnant?" Lestrade clarified.

John's nose wrinkled, taking a moment before answering. "Erm... Yep... Yes..."

Lestrade scoffed. "For how long now?"

"Three weeks according to the doctor." Molly replied.

"Huh." Lestrade mused. "So you mean in between all this, Sherlock and Irene still got to..."

Before Lestrade could even finish his sentence, Molly hit him slightly on the arm. He raised in eyebrows in the protest before trailing his gaze on Sherlock. The consulting detective just sat there, eyes fixed on the opposite wall. Mary was sitting beside him with her hand in his and her head on his shoulder, as if offering her strength to him. That's when they noticed the violent trembling of Sherlock's hands.

There was a lot going on in Sherlock's head: how the plan was executed perfectly, how smoothly everything went, and yet, he was distraught. For days, he had thought of Irene and the child. He was unsure as to what he would feel, unsure whether or not it was a good thing to even have the child. He tried to dismiss the thoughts it brought, but everyday he found himself haunted by a child's face with Irene's grey eyes and his curly brown hair. Before, there was the case to worry about, the case to persuade him that he should focus in this more and deal with this "situation" later. But now that the case was over, it dawned to him that this is what he was trying to escape from. And the possibility to even find out whether he would want the child or not, whether he could be a good father or not, may just fly out of the window.

Sherlock almost cringed. Him? A father? And Irene as the mother? This child is better off dead. He and Irene couldn't even keep each other alive for more than 2 seconds of them being around each other. Something always happens.

Yes, he thought, the child was better off dead.

And yet, why was he dreading the thought of losing the baby?

As soon as he willed it, the doctor came out behind the double doors. "Where's the father?"

Sherlock snapped straight, his hands still trembling. "I... I'm here."

"Oh..." The doctor mused, realising who he was talking to. "Erm... Mr. Holmes. The baby and Ms. Adler are both safe. You can see them now."

Sherlock nodded, still in a trance. As if his company was not anywhere in sight, Sherlock walked straight with the doctor by his side. He could feel his insides turning, unable to shake off both the worry and relief he was feeling.

As soon as he saw Irene on the bed, her eyes meeting his, he saw her gaze on him light up. He walked over to her, reaching for her hand.

"Hey." Irene greeted with a smile. Sherlock replied with a silent nod.

"The bleeding was just caused by stress. I already issued medication to ensure for the missus and the baby." The doctor said.

Sherlock merely stared at him. The detective wanted to snap but his tongue was too caught up with his thoughts. Irene shook his hand and Sherlock absent-mindedly nodded. The doctor took his leave, giving out some final instructions that slipped Sherlock easily.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" Irene asked, squeezing his hand. "You look disappointed."

Sherlock opened his mouth but he said nothing. He saw the change in Irene's expression-from worry to annoyance. "Are you scared that the baby's fine?" Irene asked.

"It's not that. I'm scared that the... the baby will always be in danger." Sherlock admitted, his voice almost a whisper.

"Of course. And we would be terrible parents..." Irene replied, smiling. "I wouldn't blame you if you wouldn't want the burden."

Sherlock paused at that, confusion flickering in his face. Irene just looked at him, a complete blank stare that was almost haunting. "I just don't want know how I would feel about it. You do know that I usually think-not feel."

"Would you want to give it up?" Irene asked pointedly.

"I don't know." Sherlock simply answered.

"Why?"

"Because I just don't. This is something I didn't expect."

"Just like everything about us."

At Irene's reply, Sherlock smiled. His fingers trailed over her stomach, the memory of his dreams haunting him. "What do you think will it be like?"

"The baby or us being parents?" Irene asked as if they were just sorting out groceries.

"Both. Of course you are will be terrible at teaching the child how to behave... He or she will turn up absolutely devious, and of course, I can't bring the child to the cases I'll be handling, unless Graeme will allow it." Sherlock said.

"Graeme? Oh... You mean Greg." Irene mused, laughing.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in confusion. "Who the hell is Greg?"

Irene's grin grew wider. "You are pathetic." she said jokingly.

Sherlock leaned in, tucking away a loose strand of hair on Irene's face. "I know."

Irene held Sherlock's hand to her face and they just sat there in silence, both thinking of what the future might bring. Never had both of them felt so much doubt in themselves, the air of confidence fleeting in the wind.

"Will you let me stay this time?" Irene asked, breaking the silence.

Sherlock held her gaze, drinking in the depth of her stormy grey eyes. "I'll make sure there will be no reason to leave."

Irene led Sherlock's hand to her stomach and watched as Sherlock flinched. "We'll figure this out."

Sherlock finally smiled, "I know."


	24. A Taste of Domestic Bliss

**_Four Months Later_**

"Sherlock..." Irene called, wondering. "Mrs. Hudson just handed me pie. She said it's for your parents."

Sherlock remained still, his hands folded under his chin. "That'll do." he replied, voice in a monotone.

Irene placed the pie on the kitchen table, her eyebrows arched at Sherlock. "Are your parents coming over?"

Sherlock looked over Irene, the pitch of her voice catching his attention. She stood with her hands on her hips, a small bump visible underneath the oversized t-shirt she was wearing. "Yes."

To the detective's surprise, Irene hit him on the shoulder, a stern look on her face. "What do you mean 'yes'? When?"

Sherlock checked the clock on the opposite wall. "In three hours."

At that, Irene gasped. "And you didn't tell me? You are unbelievable!"

She stomped her feet and headed for the bedroom. Sherlock, surprised with Irene's reaction, followed and saw her trying to put on a dress that could be stretched to fit her frame.

"Going somewhere?" Sherlock asked, studying the exasperated look on Irene's face.

Irene blew a loose strand away from her eyes and stared angrily at Sherlock. "I'm going to the market and buy some food." she huffed, struggling with the dress that seems to be snug around her baby bump. "And some new clothes."

Sherlock was puzzled. What was she on about? Just the mention of his paren-ah! It clicked in. He watched the slight twitch of the nerve under her eye, something that pulses whenever she's in distress, the way her body leans slightly to the right, the tremble of her lips: she was worried.

"Don't use your deduction skills on me, Sherlock Holmes!" Irene snapped as she noticed Sherlock's prying eyes.

Sherlock smiled and held her by the shoulders. "You've met them before."

"But back then, I was leaving. Never to return again. Plus, I didn't have this bump, which is their grandchild by the way, the first time 'round." Irene replied. "We didn't even clean the place. I hate you!" she continued, hitting Sherlock on the chest.

Sherlock looked at Irene, that determined look in her eyes that makes his pulse go quick evident. He never understood why she was pumped up, considering this was a trivial matter. She was composed back when they were dealing with criminal masterminds that the situation at hand should seem so insignificant.

"Everything's as it should be." Sherlock murmured, holding Irene in place. "This scares you? Out of all the things, my parents scares you?"

"I'm not scared. I'm just... I've never been in this situation before." Irene breathed.

Sherlock gave her a questioning glance. "How about the Nortons?"

"Fake. Doesn't count." Irene replied quickly. "I never imagined I'd do this! And then you just go off and tell me I only have three hours to think things through. You are... You are just impossible."

Unable to help himself, Sherlock kissed Irene on the forehead. It was a soft and yet lingering kiss that sent a warm feeling inside both of them. It was different-not like the kisses they shared on their lips. It was reassuring, comforting, and for a moment the world stood still.

"You are also impossible. How could they hate the perfect woman?" Sherlock whispered, his lips still brushing Irene's forehead.

Irene looked up, a devious smile on her lips. "Is that sentiment I hear, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And now you're back to being a pain in the arse."

Irene wrapped her arms around him, her head on his chest. "I'm your pain in the arse."

"I know." Sherlock replied, brushing her hair.

"Are we really not gonna prepare anything for your parents' arrival?" Irene asked.

Sherlock sighed. "I want them to see what we're both like together. Nothing fake or fancy."

At that, Irene smiled, tiptoeing to plant a kiss on Sherlock's chin. "Noted."

"How about Chinese take-away?" Sherlock suggested.

Irene rolled her eyes. "How predictable could you get?"

/

"Oh Sherlock! I told you to call us after that dreadful case of yours..." exclaimed Violet Holmes, pinching her son's arm as she entered the flat. Sigir Holmes followed, smiling meekly as Sherlock huffed over his mother's greeting.

"I believe you remember Irene." Sherlock said, his hand reaching for Irene, who was busy getting rid of Sherlock's chemistry set on the kitchen table.

At the sight of Sherlock holding Irene's hand, Violet's eyes lit up. "Oh how could I forget! Hello dear!"

Irene smiled, eyebrows arched as Violet hugged her. "I had dreamt of this day."

"You're crushing her stomach, Mum." Sherlock hissed.

"Oh. Sorry..." Violet said. Irene gave her a smile and replied, "You can touch it if you like."

Sigir chuckled, eyeing the expression on his son's face. Sherlock saw his father and he unconsciously felt a small smile surface. His father tapped him on the back, asking him to give Violet and Irene a moment.

"She likes her." Sigir whispered.

Sherlock nodded. "Fairly obvious deduction, dad."

"They're both alike, you know. Brilliant and beautiful...making us Holmes men look plain as day." Sigir said, nudging his son.

Sherlock was about to open his mouth to snap a retort but he smiled instead. It was true. Irene was indeed brilliant, making him malfunction from time to time.

"Are you gonna marry her?" Sigir asked, watching as Violet fawn over Irene's baby bump.

"Marriage is another social construct made to commercialise a decision of two individuals to live together and start a life." Sherlock replied.

To his surprise, his father reached up and ruffled his hair. "At least we get to see you in domestic bliss. Never did expect the same thing for Mycroft."

Sherlock's eyes trailed from his father to his mother then to Irene, his eyes softening. "Dad... Can I ask you something?"

"Of course son. What is it?" Sigir asked.

"When did you know that Mum was... Mum was... 'the woman' for you?" Sherlock breathed, his choice of words almost making him laugh.

Realising his son's question, Sigir gave his son a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. "The moment she made my thoughts and my words scatter to the point that I realised I wasn't the smartest person in the room."

Sherlock smiled at his father's reply, remembering that fateful day in Belgravia.


	25. In The Coming Months

(**A/N: Sorry for the lack of updates... Been busy with life and all that!) **

_**FIFTH MONTH**_

"John?!" Sherlock called, his voice shrill as he talked over his phone. "John?! Pick up!"

On the third ring, John Watson answered. "Hel- Sherlock, what's going on?"

"Is everything okay, John?" Mary said, noting the worried look on her husband's face.

"What did... Fine! We'll come over." John snapped, ending the call.

"What was that? And what do you mean 'we'?" Mary asked, her arms crossed on her chest.

John sighed, shaking his head with an amused smile on his face. "Irene's having a fit. Sherlock needs help."

The doors of 221B opened and John and Mary found Sherlock's clothes scattered on the foot of the stairs. Mrs. Hudson was nowhere in sight and a loud banter echoed along the place.

"What in the bloody wor...?" John hissed as he climbed the stairs with his wife behind him.

The Watsons saw Sherlock banging his hands on the door, a tired look on his face. "Irene! Irene, open the door! This is irrational!"

"Go away! I hate you!" Irene shouted back, her voice muffled behind the closed door.

"Well, it's my flat!" Sherlock replied angrily.

At that, Irene opened the door with her eyes blazing. "Is that a challenge?!"

Sherlock walked past Irene, striding inside his flat angrily. John and Mary stood where they are, eyebrows raised at the scenario they just witnessed. Irene stomped her feet and was almost surprised to see the couple.

"What are you doing here?" Irene hissed.

Almost in unison, Mary and John stifled a laugh. John cleared his throat and replied, "Erm... We're... Sherlock called us."

Irene threw her hands up, exasperated. She turned towards the door and shouted, "So you called for backup? Can't handle this on your own? Hmmmp!"

"I'll go talk to Sherlock, you handle the pregnant monster." John whispered to his wife.

"It's the hormones. I got this." Mary replied, taking Irene by the arm. "Come dear. We'll talk about this somewhere else."

Irene eyed Mary, somehow calming down at her touch. "A pub would be nice." Mary shook her head. "You're pregnant, dear. How about Speedy's?" Irene huffed and Mary steered her towards the door, leaving John with an amused smile on his face.

The doctor started to walk towards the door, welcomed by the image of an annoyed Sherlock Holmes. The detective's eyes were closed but his forehead was lined with agitation, mouth forming a scowl.

"So... I reckon you have no plans to gather up your clothes from the foot of the stairs?" John mused, internally laughing.

"You sound amused." Sherlock replied, not looking at John. "Well, you asked for my help but clearly you're handling it quite well." John pitched as he sat across Sherlock, who rolled his eyes at the remark.

"Was Mary that stubborn?" Sherlock asked, gritting his teeth. John shook his head. "Well, half the time Mary was pregnant, we weren't talking because of the whole 'CIA' thing. Then the next half, everything was almost fine. But then we're much more normal than... You know."

Sherlock considered this for a moment, slamming his hands on the armrest. "I don't understand what's wrong with her!"

"Did you do your research?" John asked, grabbing the morning paper. At his question Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"That's what you're good at: research, experimenting... Why can't you use it on her?" John simply said, browsing the newspaper casually.

Sherlock huffed. There was nothing to research. All the signs was clear: Irene was being irrational.

"She just doesn't want you to go. All these cases keeping you from her... And I assumed you gave a remark about her weight? Bad move." John explained when he saw that stubborn look on Sherlock's face. "Mary also got into that whole moody phase..."

"Not quite like this, I presume." Sherlock muttered.

"Well, you and Irene have been together for quite a long while but we still haven't figured out how you two managed not to blow up the flat with your bantering..." John said, putting down the paper.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "We? Who's 'we'?"

"Basically everyone." John said pointedly, heading over the kitchen to prepare himself some tea. Sherlock turned to the window, wondering where Irene and Mary went. He figured that they were just down at Speedy's, having what John referred to as "bonding".

And of course, he was right. Mary took the seething Irene Adler down to Speedy's and grabbed a sundae for each of them.

"So, tell me what happened..." Mary said, the spoon twirling in her fingers.

Irene propped her elbows on the table, her chin resting on her hands. "Sherlock is a prick."

Mary laughed at that. "Well, he's your prick."

"I know." Irene replied, still annoyed with the man she was obviously madly in love with. The past few months had been peculiar for both of them, often sneering at each other whenever the other is being... Well, pathetic. She feels so different, all these changes in her body making her agitated all the time. Then, Sherlock being Sherlock, goes on his 'trance' every once and a while, making her feel even more agitated. She doesn't want to, she knows it's irrational, but that's just how her mind seemed to go these past few months.

Plus, the other day, Sherlock gave a comment: "You look rounder than what a normal pregnancy looks like." It was not intended to mean anything but a mere statement of fact, she certainly felt bigger than what she expected, but it sounded rather insulting at the moment.

Still, despite the changes in her body, which she despised most of the time (none of her old clothes fit her anymore!), a simple touch over the bump in her belly makes her forget all the worries. She often crooned, imagining the baby on her arms. For once, she and Sherlock opted for a mystery, not wanting to get it screened whether it's a boy or a girl.

At last, Irene sighed, raising her palms in a fake surrender. "I hate you, Mary. I just hate you. Good thing I'm already with Sherlock, otherwise, that charm of yours might just get me going." she joked, her heart already back in her home in 221B.

/

**_SIXTH MONTH_**

"Why are you so...oh!" Irene exclaimed, rubbing her eyes to focus. She was awaken by the sound of hammering and a lot of cursing, only to be greeted by Sherlock slumped by the fireplace with planks of wood, couches and tables moved to the side of the room. "What is this?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at the mess.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, settling the hammer rather harshly beside him. "It's obvious. Hardly a deduction is needed."

Irene spotted a piece of paper from the couch and picked it up, seeing that it was instructions on building a baby's crib. Sherlock saw the smile on Irene's face and he huffed. "You look amused." he said, clearly annoyed as he surveyed the lack of progress he was having.

"For someone as smart as you, Sherlock Holmes, it's very refreshing to see you stumped." Irene teased, leaning in to kiss Sherlock on the forehead. "Come on. I'll help."

Finally, Sherlock gave her a soft smile. "Sorry I woke you."

Irene kissed Sherlock again, this time on the lips. "I'll forgive you this time... Seeing what the ruckus is about, I'd say it's worth it."

/

**_SEVENTH MONTH_**

"Irene... Something came up. I'll be back soon..." Sherlock whispered, giving Irene a soft kiss as he headed out the door. There was something stirring, he was evidently sure of that as soon as he saw the flicker in Mycroft's eyes the other day.

And he wanted to assure that nothing would ever harm his family. Not now, not ever.

/

**_EIGHTH MONTH_**

"I'm betting it's a boy." Lestrade said.

"Definitely." John pitched in.

"Oh, but we can't tell for sure. It'll be lovely if it's a girl..." Molly mused, getting nods from Mrs. Hudson.

"We have enough difficult men to get along with, so a girl would be a nice addition." Mary said, eyeing the forming protest John was about to raise.

"I know! How about a bet?" Lestrade offered, rubbing his palms together, a smug look on his face. "What do you say, John?"

John nodded, raising his eyebrows at the ladies in the room. Mary rolled her eyes.

"I can't see why not." Molly said, smiling. "You'll owe us a drink, yes?"

/

**_NINTH MONTH_**

It was a lovely afternoon.

Irene and Sherlock just finished having their afternoon tea, the exhaustion from a 2-week case almost forgotten.

"I have reserved us a table at the Orrery tonight." Sherlock said, holding Irene's hand.

"Orrery? Are you mocking me?" Irene replied, raising her eyebrows, remembering how they saw each other again a few months back, Godfrey Norton at her hand at the time.

Sherlock laughed, rolling his eyes at her. "Not quite." And with that, Irene joined him.

Suddenly, he saw Irene wince, her had flying to her stomach. "Irene?"

"Sherlock... I think the baby's coming..." Irene said, her voice strained, hand still on her bump.


	26. Halves Of A Whole

(**_A/N: This is from a prompt I received a couple of days from the lovely lpulverized over at Tumblr. I'm just tweaked it to fit my original plans for this fic. Enjoy!). _**

Nervous. Sherlock had never been this unnerved.

His one hand gripped the side of the scrubs he was wearing, the other holding Irene's hand. Her screech echoed in his ears as the doctor told Irene to push harder, her face as white as sheet as she tried to fully introduce the world to her child-well, hers and Sherlock's.

Sherlock could see Irene's face contorted in pain, the force of her struggle manifesting in the tightness of her hold in his hand. He brushed the hair plastered on her forehead, racking if there was anything in his mind palace to help comfort her but clearly there was none.

"A little more, Irene. Just a little more." He told her, trying his best to sound soothing. Irene's slitted eyes ground to him, her breathing loudly escaping her mouth. "Shut up! I hate you... I hate you..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her, an amused smile forming in his mouth. "I know... I know..."

"You prick! You are a cock, Sherlock Holmes!" Irene shouted at him. Sherlock just nodded, running his fingers affectionately on Irene's hair. His eyes trailed from Irene's face to her trembling legs, the peak of their child's head almost halfway out. Sherlock could feel his own knees weakening from both excitement and fear-the first, because this child was a product of his and Irene's love and the second, because he was still uncertain on how to become not just a father but a "father".

Irene writhed and breathed, hard and struggling as she gripped Sherlock's hand tighter and tighter. The clock seemed to tick on forever and Sherlock could feel his heart clenching at Irene's every grit. Finally, Irene gave one last push and her head was thrown off the pillow, relief slowly surfacing on her features.

Laughing softly, Sherlock planted a soft kiss on Irene's forehead and their eyes met, both dazed with uncontainable and unexplainable joy. The room was suddenly filled with a cry, the child announcing its presence.

"It's a boy..." The doctor announced with a beaming smile on her face, the child writhing in her arms. She handed the child to Sherlock, whose initial reaction was to wince in hesitation. He had held a child before, Mary and John's Elizabeth to be specific, and he remembered how he felt relieved and burdened at the same time. Such a fragile being to be held by such cold hands, he thought.

And yet, when the child landed in his arms, Sherlock was suddenly oblivious to the streaks of blood on the baby's body, the rustic smell went unnoticed. He brushed the damp strands of curly black hair on the baby's head, an exhilarating feel of warmth filling his entire self. The child finally opened his eyes, stormy as her mother's and it twinkled along with thin lips forming a yawn. His small hands reached towards Sherlock and the detective just stood smiling, taking in this moment in his mind palace forever. He leaned down to meet the touch of his son, worries of his own insecurities seemingly forgotten.

To his surprise, Irene was still screaming in pain. The doctor held Irene's trembling legs, eyes lighting in excitement. "Oh. I guess we have another one." she announced, asking Irene to breathe in harder.

Sherlock's eyes flickered, the child in his arms wriggling slightly, grey eyes still fixed on him. He shushed the child, his fingers brushing lightly over his boy's forehead. "Guess you'll have an early playmate. We didn't saw this coming." he whispered affectionately, eyes darting from the child to Irene.

Irene pushed harder, her lips turning almost purple in the struggle. Her fingers dug the side rails, hair glistening with sweat. A final tug and her back was thrown flat once more, another cry heard. "A lovely baby girl..." was all the doctor said, handing the child to Irene with extreme care. Sherlock felt a tug in his chest as Irene smiled at their other child, her eyes lazy from exhaustion but joyous still. Sherlock brushed his fingers on Irene's hair once more, both of them beaming.

Sherlock saw that their baby girl was similar to their boy, with a slight sweep of dark curls and thin lips. The only difference was the heterochromic eyes their baby girl now bore, an evident reflection of her father's.

"Let me see Hamish." Irene said, a playful smile in her face. Sherlock's eyebrows raised, not surprised at her choice of names but was amused knowing the story behind it. He leaned down and let Irene see their boy, his fingers brushing over their baby girl's cheek.

"Arabella suits her, don't you think?" Sherlock whispered, knowing that the name meant God-given, in reference to his disguise as a vicar in Irene's residence that day in Belgravia that meant to change his life forever. Irene gave him a nod, all feelings overwhelming and yet welcomed all at once.

On that moment, despite his initial belief that he was neither a hero or an angel, Sherlock swore that he will do the best he can to be worthy of having the three people he's holding in his arms.

(**_Next chapter will be tha last and I will move on the my next project which will be called "The New Age of Baker Street". Thank you so much for the supprt despite the lack of updates recently. You guys kept me from going from a one-shot to making 2 chaptered fics. My love goes to you all.)_**


	27. First Words To Forever

**_7 Months Later_**

The flat was a mess.

Irene was busy typing away in Sherlock's laptop, replying to emails swiftly. Her inbox bursted with invitations, all of which from influential figures, trying to get a slot in the busy schedule of Irene's network. It was her life now, no longer the one doing some recreational scolding but rather training other women to do so. She wanted to ensure that her 'trainees' were safe and will not be forced to do anything they would never want to do. Embrace sexuality and use it as a skill, she said. It was empowering not just for her but for all of them.

Some of them were even from Sherlock's homeless network.

Of course, this received some headshaking from Mycroft, one that Sherlock reciprocated with an eyeroll.

Another email came in that sent a huge smile on her face. It was from Sherlock.

"Figured you won't pick up your phone, judging by the state I left you in earlier, thus this email. Completely wasted my time here. I bet Mycroft is thrilled. I could have just stayed at home and spent time with you and the children. See you in 30. SH."

Irene's smile grew wider as she replied. "You've turned down knighthood thrice now. A small party in your honour couldn't be that bad. xx."

"You know I hate parties." Sherlock answered immediately. "And you made it more antagonising by not accompanying me."

"Oh stop being a drama king! Just hurry home. Judging by the look on Ara and Hamish's face, they miss you so much already." Irene typed, a giggle forming in her lips.

More than a year. It has been that long since she settled down with Sherlock Holmes, the humble flat in Baker Street shared with their twins, Arabella and Hamish. It looks alarmingly unchanged, from the dusty bookshelves to the bullet-hole ridden smiley face on the wall. It was their decision to never change the circumstances. This setup may not be the best to raise children for most people, but as Sherlock would word it, their family is not 'the commonwealth'. They have no expectations for their children to grow up and be like both of them, no expectations or limitations whatsoever. Both of them knew what it was like to strive in the world with no one to understand, with no one to actually relate to until they met their friends and each other. It was a long haul, an antagonising wait to find people who accepted them and they wouldn't let their children feel that pain.

/

"_Sherlock Holmes! Where are you taking my daughter?" Irene exclaimed, seeing Sherlock in full consulting detective gear with Arabella in his arms._

_Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Just a crime scene. Double murder… And I took Hamish to the last one."_

_Irene's jaw dropped, her hands on her waist. "You took Hamish to the last one?!"_

_"Yes. When you were out shopping with Mary, Molly and Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock replied casually. Seeing that Irene was taking out her phone, Sherlock continued. "No use phoning Lestrade, you know."_

/

Irene walked over to their bedroom, their children on their respective cribs. She watched as her twins breathe almost in unison, features a combination of hers and Sherlock's. As early as 4 months old, Sherlock started bringing them to crime scenes, assuring her that he wouldn't take them unless he was absolutely sure nothing dangerous will occur. Much to everyone's approval except her own, this became some sort of a tradition.

But she had seen this coming, of course and whether it is Hamish or Arabella, both come back to their home with their dimpled smiles, already in appreciation of their father's work.

/

_"Good morning... " Irene heard Sherlock whisper in her ear. She met his lips, his hands immediately trailing the hem of her shirt. Moans started to escape her mouth as his kisses grew more demanding, fingers flying to the skin on her back. Her lips moved to his neck, his breathing starting to get shallow as her fingers flew to his er-_

_A cry._

_Irene and Sherlock snapped out of their reverie, both alarmed by the sound of crying echoing inside their bedroom. Sherlock sighed and Irene laughed, both of them remembering the cribs where their children lay. The detective stood up and reached over Hamish, planting a chaste kiss on Irene's lips before shaking his head affectionately._

_"I forgot we weren't alone anymore." he said, chuckling._

_Irene giggled as she saw who among the twins broke the steam. " Well, it wasn't the first time we were interrupted by a Hamish."_

/

Sherlock arrived at the flat, throwing off his scarf on the couch. Irene went over to greet him, arms wrapping around his neck and he leaned down to kiss her.

"Are the twins asleep?" he asked, eyes searching the room.

Irene gave him a pout. "And just when I thought I was still your favourite person."

Sherlock grinned, his arms circling on her waist. "Is that sentiment I hear, Ms. Adler?"

Irene rolled her eyes before giving him a smile. "If we were to talk about sentiment, Mr. Holmes, I'd say we have the perfect examples right on those cribs." She said, untangling herself from him as they headed to where their children were.

Sherlock reached down to Hamish and Irene carried her precious Arabella, both beaming over the child on their arms.

"How's my boy?" Sherlock asked, planting a kiss on Hamish's forehead. The child giggled, reaching for his father's curls lovingly.

"He's been quiet the entire day. Sleeping, actually. I guess he was bored without you around. I'm jealous." Irene joked, leaning on Sherlock, who kissed her hair.

"Well it's his turn to come to my next case." Sherlock said and at the sound of that, Hamish smiled even wider. Arabella huffed, pouting her lips, leaning her head on Irene's shoulder.

"Somebody's a daddy's girl." Irene said, kissing Arabella on the nose. "How about I bring you to my next meeting? Would you like that? Maybe I'll even buy you your own riding crop!" Arabella laughed, her blue eyes twinkling at her mother.

"She can have mine." Sherlock mused.

"No. You used that on dead people. My baby girl will have her own." Irene said, both of them laughing. Sherlock rolled his eyes mockingly at Irene and told his daughter, "Spoiled child, now, are you?"

In the middle of the teasing and the laughing, Sherlock and Irene suddenly froze.

"Ma… Ma…" Arabella started saying and Hamish soon mimicked. Sherlock and Irene just stood there, watching as their babies wriggle in their arms, still uttering a syllable.

"Ma... Ma… aaa..." Hamish mouthed, making Irene smile.

"Ha! Guess who's their favourite now?" she mused, a triumphant smile on her face.

"Da...Da…" Arabella then uttered.

"You were saying?" Sherlock replied smugly.

Irene rolled her eyes, nodding to Hamish. "Come on, dear. Say it… Mama…"

Sherlock's eyes flickered and Irene caught the look before Sherlock started to laugh uncontrollably. "Erm… Irene… I don't think they're trying to say Mum or Dad…"

"Then what…" Irene started when the twins, almost in unison, started to utter both syllables together.

"Ma...da…. Ma… da…" Arabella and Hamish started to say, almost non-stop, both laughing and arms flapping and clapping as they did. Their eyes grew wide as if expecting a sign of pride in both their parents.

"Oh for the love of… Sherlock Holmes! Really?! The first word of our children is 'murder'?!" Irene exclaimed and Sherlock bit his lip to stifle his laughter.

"Well, they could be saying mum and dad but then you should also welcome the possibility… Don't you even find this funny?" Sherlock remarked, shoulders trembling from trying to control his amusement over the situation.

Irene stared at Sherlock, then at their children who still kept on mumbling the word as if it was as innocent as her initial expectation, unable to keep a straight face anymore as she joined Sherlock's laughter.

This is a story they would never get tired of telling, a memory that has no chance of fading.

(**_A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you so much for following this story. Tell me what you think and I hope you still stick around for my next work which is a fast forward to 16 years, the story revolving around the teenage Arabella and Hamish Holmes with 19 year old Elizabeth Watson as they take on Baker Street, of course with flashbacks from their childhood and still bits and pieces of Adlock. You can all reach me via tumblr with the url throughtheparadox! Thanks again and stay awesome y'all! xoxo)_**


	28. THIRD INSTALLMENT IS ALREADY UP! :)

Hello everyone! The third installment revolving around the Holmes' twins, Arabella and Hamish. If it piqued your interest, I hope you check it out. Again, thank you so much. I appreciate every new follower, every new review and it inspires me to do better every chapter. xx

-Amanda


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